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DANIEL BOONE 

BACKWOODSMAN 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


JOHN SMITH 

GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER 

An interesting work on the life and times of this famous 
soldier of fortune and American colonist, intended pri- 
marily for the young, but of such a character as to appeal 
to all. 

“A good, strong, interest compelling narrative, and a valua- 
ble addition to a boy’s library.” — The Sun, New York. 

Historical fiction that appears to show him [Smith] in a 
clearer and more truthful light than has ever before been 
shed.” — The Courier-Journal, Louisville. 

The book will be read with great interest by both old and 
young, for all men love* adventures of the Smith type.” — The 
Republic, St. Louis. 

“ Should mightily interest every boy who loves his coun- 
try.” — The Inter-Ocean, Chicago. 

H^ith four full-page illustrations in color by 
HARRY B. LACHMAN 


12 mo. 


Cloth, ^1.50 




Immediately He Became a Target. 

Page 196 



Daniel Boone 

BACKWOODSMAN 


BY 

C. H. FORBES-LINDSAY 

Author of “ John Smith, Gentleman Adventurer,” ^^India: 
Past and Present,” “America’s Insular 
Possessions,” etc. 


ILLUSTRJITIONS BY 

FRANK McKERNAN 


“ Who passes for in life and death most lucky. 

Of the great names which in our faces stare 
Is Daniel Boone, backwoodsman of Kentucky.” 

— Byron 



1 > 

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PHILADELPHIA ^ LONDON 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1908 



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Copyright, 1908 
By J. B. Lippincott Company 


Published September, igo8 


Electrotyped and printed hj J. B. Lippincott Companf 
The {{Washington Square Pressy Philadelphia^ U. S. A, 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

I The American ^Backwoodsman 9 

II Hardy Goodfellow’ 24 

III The Young Hunter 39 

IV The Daring Pioneer ' . . . 54' 

V In Fair Kentucky 68 

VI Hardy’s First Indian 86 

VII The Capture of Boone loi 

VIII The Hannibal of the West 116 

IX The Victory of Vincennes 131 

X A Feat of Strength 145 

XI “Big Turtle” 160 

XII Diamond Cut Diamond 174 

XIII Boonesborough is Besieged 188 

XIV Kenton’s Story 202 

XV The Young Scout 216 

XVI The White Squaw 229 

XVII A String of Disasters 243 

XVIII “The Bloody Year” 257 

XIX Simon Girty, Renegade 270 

XX Battle of the Blue Licks 285 

XXI An Old Bird 300 

XXII The Last Hunt 3^1 


V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Immediately He Became a Target . . Frontispiece 

“My Scalp, I Reckon, Young Fellow” 96 

Boone was Nearing the Limit of His Endurance . 155 

His Weapon Whizzed through the Air and Buried 
Itself in the Skull of the Foremost .... 296 



I 

/ 








Daniel Boone 


I. 

THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


The backwoods town in colonial days — The place of the 

BACKW'OODSMEN IN THE MARCH OF PROGRESS — BoONE AND 
HIS DESCENDANTS AMONG THE LEADING PIONEERS — HoW 
THE BACKWOODS FIGHTERS FORCED THE BOUNDARY WESTWARD 

— The frontier farmer was necessarily hunter and 
FIGHTER — The character of the backwoodsman and his 
manner of life — The dwellings, dress and weapons of 
the frontier — Daniel Boone, a typical backwoods- 
man — His birth and boyhood in a frontier settlement — 
His parents migrate to North Carolina — Then he 
MARRIES and SETTLES ON THE BORDER — He EXPLORES KEN- 
TUCKY AND FORMS A DETERMINATION TO SETTLE THERE. 

We shall be able to follow the story of Daniel 
Boone with a better understanding if, before enter- 
ing upon it, we take a brief survey of the country 
in which his entire life was passed and the people 
among whom he lived — the American backwoods 
and the American backswoodsmen. 

At the outbreak of the Revolution the American 


9 


DANIEL BOONE 


colonies extended no farther west than the Alle- 
ghany Mountains, and consisted of the narrow strip 
of territory lying between that rocky wall and the 
Atlantic seaboard. By far the greater portion of 
the population dwelt along the coast in urban 
centres, or in comparatively closely settled districts 
which had been cleared and cultivated. In this belt 
were found the large plantations and wealthy slave- 
owners. Beyond it, the land was covered with vir- 
gin forest, dense, impenetrable, except along the 
trails, and infested by wild beasts and savages. 

In the portion of this region that lay nearest to 
civilization a rude backwoods town might be found 
here and there. It lay in a clearing of a few hun- 
dred acres, and usually at the junction of several 
frequented trails. It consisted of a cluster of log 
cabins, a general store, perhaps a smithy, a school, a 
tavern, and court-house. The inhabitants seldom 
numbered more than three or four hundred. It 
may not be strictly proper to speak of a people to 
whose midst the schoolmaster and the judge pene- 
trated, as beyond the bounds of civilization, and, of 
course, the expression is used in a comparative sense. 
The backwoods dominie was hardly worth consider- 
ing as an educational factor. He was generally 


10 


THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


ignorant, frequently intemperate, and sometimes 
immoral. The law lost much of its wonted majesty 
in a community where an unpopular judge was 
liable to be mobbed and a dishonest sheriff to be 
lynched. 

The fact is that these people were entirely differ- 
ent from the colonists of the coast — different in 
origin, in religion, in manners, and customs. With 
splendid natural qualities, such as made them pecu- 
liarly fitted to act as the pioneers of the nation, they 
were rude, unlettered, and impatient of restraint. 
In the upbuilding of the infant nation, these path- 
finders formed the muscle and sinew, whilst the 
older communities supplied the brain. Although 
both classes were essentially Americans, in the Revo- 
lutionary period they had hardly anything in com- 
mon but their patriotism. 

The inhabitants of the backwoods towns were in 
general the less bold spirits. Deeper in the forest 
wilderness were found more daring souls, scattered 
along the mountain border that divided the colonies 
from the Indian territory. They lived face to face 
and in constant touch with the fierce savages, and 
acted as a buffer to their countrymen behind them. 

The term backwoods conflicts somewhat with 


II 


DANIEL BOONE 


a proper sense of the actual situation. From the 
time that they turned their backs on the mother 
country, our people faced steadily towards the west, 
and maintained a forward march in that direction 
until they reached the distant shores of the continent. 
A marked peculiarity of the class we have under 
consideration is that when they arrived in the coun- 
try, they pushed through the ranks of the colonists 
and, assuming the vanguard, continued at the head 
of the advance, first taking possession of Kentucky 
and Tennessee, then settling Mississippi and Mis- 
souri, and ultimately marching across the continent 
to the Pacific. Son followed father, and continued 
on when the latter lay in the peace of the grave. 
Two children of Boone were among the first Ameri- 
cans to make homes beyond the “ Father of 
Waters ” ; a grandson was the first settler in Kan- 
sas; another among the earliest in Colorado; and 
a third — the famous Kit Carson — acted as scout 
and guide to the expedition of General Fremont. 

Many backwoods families devoted themselves, 
through several generations, to the winning of the 
wilderness with rifle and axe. The debt of the 
nation to these people is a heavy one. They may 
be compared to the outposts of an encamped army, 
12 


THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


the border settlers being the sentries, stretching 
along the enemy’s face, and the backwoods towns 
the pickets. As an army sleeps in security behind 
its outposts, so was the main body of the colonists, 
screened from the Indians by the backwoods settlers, 
enabled to build up towns and cultivate its planta- 
tions in safety. And as, when an army resumes 
the march, the outpost of the night before forms 
the advance guard, so these border sentinels were 
ever in the front of our territorial progress. 

In 1783 the western boundary of the United 
States had been carried forward to the Mississippi 
River. The large area between it and the Alle- 
ghanies had been won for us by the dauntless back- 
woodsmen after a decade of intense struggle. By 
holding the border Indians in check they performed 
a valuable service to the colonies in their fight for 
freedom. The settlement of Kentucky made pos- 
sible the capture of the British posts in the Illinois 
and Indiana regions, and paved the way for the 
acquisition of our Western territory. 

Whilst working out the destiny of a nation, the 
simple-minded backwoodsmen were quite uncon- 
scious of any such high purpose. They pushed 
forw:ard into the wilderness because land was to be 


13 


DANIEL BOONE 


had there for practically nothing. They desired to 
make homes for their children, and were willing 
to risk their lives in the venture. As to the hard- 
ships, they and their fathers had been accustomed 
to arduous poverty in the old country. The life 
of the hunter, which was an inseparable part of 
backwoods existence, appealed to them as it does 
to all healthy men. In fact, the majority of them 
grew to love their hard lot, with its constant adven- 
ture. Many, like Boone, became so enamoured of 
the life, despite its dangers and hardships, that they 
shunned the approach of civilization and moved 
farther into the forest whenever the region they 
had opened up began to be at all thickly populated. 

The backwoodsman was at once hunter, fighter, 
and farmer. He could not look for aid or protec- 
tion from the Government. He had to depend upon 
his own resources and, even in the acquisition of 
new territory, upon his own strong right arm. This 
was particularly the case with the pioneer settlers 
of Kentucky, for the movement took place when all 
the men and material available were needed to 
strengthen the Continental forces, and the back- 
woodsmen battling with the Indian allies of the 
British had difficulty in getting sufficient powder 


14 


THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


and lead to carry on the conflict. Every man and 
youth was a home-made soldier. Most of the 
women could handle a rifle, and the annals of the 
frontier teem with stories of brave mothers and 
daughters who, in the absence of their men-folk, 
successfully defended their cabins against the attacks 
of savages. In the frequent sieges of the forts the 
women loaded the weapons, moulded bullets, and 
sometimes stood to a port-hole. It is significant 
of the life of the backwoodsmen that every male 
among them who was old enough to carry fire-arms 
was spoken of as a gun.” 

For the most part, the people of the backwoods 
were of Scotch or Irish descent, with a strong 
sprinkling of English and Germans, but in the sec- 
ond generation differences of nationality were rarely 
detectable. Their characters and even their physi- 
cal traits were greatly affected by the peculiar con- 
ditions of their lives, which created a type the mem- 
bers of which were all much alike, whilst they dif- 
fered widely from the colonists in general. Their 
isolation tended to develop some of the best human 
qualities. It taught them independence and self- 
reliance and at the same time prompted them to help 
one another. On the border men practiced the 
IS 


DANIEL BOONE 


golden rule and maintained a homely code of mo- 
rality and justice. They were hard, rough and self- 
contained, but neither ungenerous, cruel, nor 
morose. 

In their dealings with hostile Indians the back- 
woodsmen may appear to have exercised merciless 
severity, but that is hardly to be wondered at when 
the provocation is considered. The wanton barbar- 
ity of their enemies hardened them and goaded them 
to revenge. This sometimes took the form of de- 
plorable cruelty but, as a rule, the backwoodsmen 
were neither inhuman nor bloodthirsty. They 
fought in defence of their homes and property, and 
when they carried the conflict into the Indian’s coun- 
try it was usually in retaliation for an attack and 
with a view to checking further hostilities. The 
settler was always glad to live in peace if he might. 

As to the respective rights of the white men and 
their red foes, a great deal has been said on both 
sides, and perhaps it would be impossible to exactly 
weigh the equities in the case. It was, however, 
inevitable that a growing and energetic race should 
have contested the possession of the soil with the 
mere handful of savages that did not occupy it but 
merely roamed over it, hunting and camping here 

i6 


THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


and there and keeping up a perpetual warfare among 
themselves. They set up claims, it is true, to the 
exclusive possession of certain large areas but, even 
among themselves, such claims were only sustained 
by superior strength, and one tribe frequently ousted 
another from its accustomed territory. 

The most ardent defenders of the Indians must 
find it difficult to establish a case of trespass against 
the settlers of Kentucky. The territory that is now 
comprised within that State was ceded by the Indians 
in more than one treaty and purchased for a definite 
sum. Moreover, it had not been the home or coun- 
try of any particular tribe, but was held as a hunting- 
ground common to all and in which none were 
allowed to settle. It contained no permanent Indian 
villages, nor was an acre of its soil cultivated until 
the white man cleared the land. 

The pioneers of the wilderness made their settle- 
ments in groups of five or six families. The first 
thing they did was to erect their cabins and form a 
fort. This was usually accomplished by raising the 
former in a row and making their backs one side of 
a palisaded enclosure, with blockhouses at the cor- 
ners. This was the refuge of all during an attack 
by the Indians, but otherwise each family lived in 


2 


17 


DANIEL BOONE 


a cabin upon its farm. The clearings were gener- 
ally four hundred acres in extent and lay at some 
distance from each other in the heart of the forest. 
The trees having been felled, the settler left the 
stumps standing, rolled the trunks to one side and 
burned the branches on the spot. He then planted 
his fields with maize or other cereals. Some stock 
was raised and a few sheep, but only in sufficient 
numbers to supply local needs. Corn, or maize, was 
the principal reliance of the frontier farmer. His 
wife made a coarse flour and hominy from it, and 
a bag of the parched grains served him for food on 
his hunting expeditions. 

The backwoods cabin was commonly a one- 
roomed structure of unhewn logs, chinked with 
clay and moss. After a while, when the owner 
became fairly settled and had his fields in good 
order, this would give place to a larger building, 
containing perhaps as many as three rooms and an 
attic reached by a ladder. A huge stone fireplace 
occupied one end of the cabin, and the door was 
always furnished with heavy bolts. The logs were 
hewn, at least on the inside, and the roof covered 
with clapboards. There was little furniture and few 
utensils in such a place. The table was a board 


THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


set on trestles, and three-legged stools served to sit 
upon. The beds were rough wooden contrivances 
covered with skins. The dishes and platters were 
often of wood and the spoons and forks of pewter, 
the hunting-knife serving admirably to cut the meat. 
The family depended very largely upon its head to 
furnish the larder with venison and bear-steaks. 

The dress of the backwoodsman was a distinctive 
one. He wore a hunting-shirt of buckskin, or 
homespun, ornamented with a fringe of the same 
material, or perhaps with porcupine quills. It was 
a loose tunic, descending nearly to the knees and 
fastened round the waist with a belt, from which 
were suspended the tomahawk and hunting-knife. 
From his shoulders hung by a strap the powder-horn 
and bullet-pouch, in which he also carried spare 
flints. On his head he wore a fur cap or a soft 
felt hat, and his feet were covei'ed with moccasins, 
after the fashion of the Indians, from whom the 
dress was in large part borrowed. His legs were 
encased in leather leggings or trousers. 

The backwoodsman’s principal weapon was the 
heavy flint-lock rifle. It was five feet, and some- 
times slightly more, in length, and although it did 
not carry very far was exceedingly accurate. The 


19 


DANIEL BOONE 


most marvellous feats of marksmanship were per- 
formed by some of the pioneers with these weapons. 
Every boy learned to shoot almost as soon as he was 
strong enough to lift a gun, and his training in 
woodcraft commenced even earlier, so that it is not 
surprising that many a youth, such as Kit Carson 
and Simon Kenton, exhibited the qualities of the 
expert hunter and Indian fighter before his beard 
was grown. 

There was little money in the backwoods, pelts 
serving instead. Almost all the needs of the people 
were supplied by themselves. The women made 
homespun, in which they clothed the children and 
themselves. Every man was something of a smith, 
and most of the rifles were of backwoods manufac- 
ture. The men tanned the skins and their wives 
sewed them into foot-gear and garments. Trench- 
ers and bowls, and even harrows and sleds, were 
made without much difficulty. 

There were, however, a few very necessary 
articles for which the settlers had to depend upon 
the outside world. These were salt, iron, powder 
and lead. In the fall the members of a settlement 
would make a joint collection of fur-skins and send 
two or three of their number to some large town, 


20 


THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


such as Baltimore, to get what was needed. Thus, 
a train of several peltry-laden horses would make 
the long, slow journey over a distance which w:e may 
cover in these days in two or three hours. 

Daniel Boone was a typical backwoodsman. Born 
in a frontier settlement, he passed his long and ad- 
venturous life in sparsely-peopled regions and died 
in a pioneer community beyond the Mississippi. 
Boone’s father, a native of England, after living in 
different parts of Pennsylvania, took up some land 
on what was then the frontier, in Oley township, 
about eight miles from the site of the present city 
of Reading. Here Daniel was born in November, 
1734. His early life was that of the ordinary back- 
woods boy. It embraced no considerable oppor- 
tunity for scholarship. He learned to read and 
write but, having little occasion in the course of his 
active life for the exercise of either accomplishment, 
his spelling was poor to the day of his death. He 
helped his mother with the chores and, when old 
enough, was entrusted with the care of the stock 
at pasture. His days were spent in the open and 
he grew to be a lusty lad, well versed in nature 
and the ways of wild beasts and the less dangerous 
denizens of the forest. When he had reached the 


21 


DANIEL BOONE 


age of twelve, his father gave him a rifle, with which 
he soon became a good shot and furnished his 
mother’s kitchen with an ample supply of game. 
His winters were now spent in hunting, and he 
often roamed long distances from home in his soli- 
tary expeditions, i-eturning with skins secured by his 
trap or gun. 

In 1750 Boone’s parents with their children mi- 
grated south and settled on the banks of the upper 
Yadkin, in the northwestern corner of North Caro- 
lina. The location was even wilder than that they 
had left, and their lives were harder and more ad- 
venturous. Attacks by the Indians were not infre- 
quent, and a few years later a border war cost many 
lives in the Yadkin Valley. Here Daniel, following 
the custom of young backwoodsmen, married as 
soon as he had arrived at manhood and set up house- 
keeping in a log cabin. 

Ten years were passed after the usual manner 
of backwoods existence, in hunting, farming, and 
fighting Indians. But Boone’s hunting expeditions 
sometimes partook of the character of explorations. 
He went far beyond the frontier in various direc- 
tions, and on two or three occasions crossed the 
mountains into Kentucky. The beauty and rich- 


22 


THE AMERICAN BACKWOODSMAN 


ness of the country and the abundance of game filled 
him with an irresistible desire to make his home 
there. In the fall of 1773 Boone sold his farm on 
the Yadkin and set out at the head of a company, 
consisting of his own family and several others 
that he had induced to accompany them, to make 
new homes in the lovely valleys of Kentucky. It 
is at this point that we take up his story. 


II. 

HARDY GOODFELLOW 


Boone leads a company toward the promised land of 
Kentucky — They are attacked by Indians in Powell’s 
Valley — Six of the party are slain and among them 
Boone’s eldest son — The sorrow of a strong man and 
his sense of duty — The dead are buried and the march 
RESUMED — Boone’s lonely watch over the sleeping 
SETTLERS — HiS ENCOUNTER WITH HaRDY GoODFELLOW IN 
THE GRAY DAWN — “ NoW THAT FATHER’S DEAD, I’m ALL 
ALONE ” — Hardy finds a new father and Boone another 
SON — Man and boy make a strange compact — “ Maybe 
THE Lord meant it that way — who knows ? ” 

“ Isn’t it about time to make camp, Captain? ” 

“ Pretty near that, but I don’t exactly fancy 
campin’ right on a trace. I reckon we’ll push on 
a bit and see if we can’t find a likelier location.” 

The first speaker was not a backwoodsman but 
a Charlestown surveyor. The day’s march had 
wearied him to the point of exhaustion, and he felt 
faint for lack of a good meal, for the frontiersman 
ate plenteously but once in the twenty-four hours 
and that at the close of the day. He turned to his 


24 


HARDY GOODFELLOW 


pipe for solace, first offering his plug of strong 
tobacco to his companion. 

Have a fill, Captain ? ” 

“ Thanks; I don’t use it.” 

“ You don’t smoke. Captain? ” said the other, in 
astonishment. 

“ No ; I never learned and I don’t see that it 
would have done me any particular good if I had. 
It seems to tal<ce pretty hard hold on a man. I’ve 
seen hunters well nigh crazy when their tobacco run 
out, and I shouldn’t like to be that way myself. 
Then it’s apt to make trouble in other ways. A deer 
could scent your pipe half a mile away, and an 
Injun’s nose is near as keen.” 

You don’t think there are any Indians here- 
abouts, do you ? ” asked the surv^eyor, with some 
show of apprehension. 

‘‘ I wouldn’t like to say one way or the other. 
There might be a hundred in there ” — he jerked 
his head in the direction of the dense undergrowth — 
“ and we not know it till they showed themselves. 
You see, a redskin’s like a copperhead — you don’t 
know where he is till he strikes.” 

The men who thus conversed were following a 
forest trail, or “ trace,” as it was called at the time, 


25 


DANIEL BOONE 


in Powell’s Valley, which lay near the point where 
the States of Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee 
meet. On either side stretched forest so dense that 
the sun never penetrated the canopy of leaves. 
Even at midday a gloom prevailed, and now, as 
evening approached, it was impossible for any but 
the keenest eyes to see farther than a few yards in 
the growing dusk. The undergrowth was so thick 
as to be impenetrable at most points without the aid 
of the axe. Only a practiced woodsman dare enter 
that tangle of shrubs and vines. Had Mr. Sproul, 
the surveyor, ventured a hundred yards from the 
trail, he could only have found it again by accident 
and would in all probability have died of hunger, 
unless, indeed, his sufferings had been cut short 
by wild beasts or Indians. 

It was precisely in this manner that Stuart, 
Boone’s companion in his first expedition to Ken- 
tucky, lost his life. He wandered from their camp 
and, failing to find his way back, probably died of 
starvation after his ammunition became exhausted. 
Years afterwards his skeleton was found in a hol- 
low sycamore and identified by the powder-horn 
which bore his initials. 

Of the two men we have under notice, one would 


26 


HARDY GOODFELLOW 


have attracted immediate attention in any company, 
or under any conditions. He was verging upon his 
fortieth year and in the prime of life. Five feet 
ten inches in height, his erect carriage gave him an 
appearance of greater stature. His body, encased 
in the deerskin dress of the backwoodsman, was 
splendidly formed, the extraordinarily broad and 
deep chest giving evidence of great strength. A 
sculptor might have taken the head, with its noble 
brow and fine features, for a model. The long hair 
was plaited and rolled into a knot. The clear, keen, 
blue eye had a mild expression, but force was writ- 
ten in the large, aquiline nose and the square chin, 
while the thin, compressed lips denoted resolution. 
It was a face on which courage and composure were 
strongly stamped. As he swung along with easy 
stride, his rifle over his shoulder, the movement of 
the sinewy limbs betrayed strength and agility. 

It did not appear to the surveyor that his compan- 
ion was particularly mindful of his surroundings 
but, as a matter of fact, nothing escaped the ever- 
watchful eyes of Daniel Boone. To him a twig, a 
leaf, a stone, the bark of a tree, or the lightest im- 
pression on the earth, told a story that none but a 
master of woodcraft might read. Throughout the 


27 


DANIEL BOONE 


day his piercing glance had fallen on this side and on 
that, taking in every detail as he passed along the 
trail. This caution was habitual with the back- 
woodsman, but on the present occasion Boone’s vigi- 
lance was, if possible, keener than usual because he 
was responsible for the safety of a large company 
which included many women and children. Behind 
the leader came a train of settlers bound for the 
promised land beyond the mountains. 

The band, which had left their homes at Boone’s 
persuasion, numbered about forty men and the 
women and children of live families including his 
own. The majority were old neighbors from the 
Yadkin Valley who had been fired by the glowing 
accounts of Boone and other hunters who had pene- 
trated to the wonderful country that was the favor- 
ite hunting-ground of the Indians. The settlers had 
crossed the Blue Ridge and some lesser ranges and 
were approaching the Cumberland Gap, which was 
the gateway to the region they sought. The hard- 
ships of a backwoods migration were nothing to 
them, but they were a little apprehensive about push- 
ing so far into the interior and going hundreds of 
miles from the nearest settlement. Such a thing 
had never been done, and probably would not have 
28 


HARDY GOODFELLOW 


been attempted except under the guidance of Boone, 
who was already an acknowledged leader on the 
frontier and one in whom all placed the utmost 
reliance. 

It was now the 6th of October and the party had 
left the Yadkin district on the 25th of the preceding 
month. Their progress was necessarily slow, owing 
to the nature of the country they had to traverse 
and the character of the cavalcade. The narrow 
and rough trail forbade their using wagons as did 
the later pioneers in crossing the prairie regions. A 
string of pack-horses, tied head to tail, carried their 
bedding, clothing, and other belongings. Aside 
from corn, maple-sugar, and salt, they did not need 
to burden the animals with provisions, for the men 
could always be depended upon to supply the even- 
ing camp-kitchen with an abundance of meat. Wild 
turkeys were numerous, and at this time of the year 
fat and lazy. Pigeons, quail, and other game birds 
abounded in the forest, and an occasional deer or 
bear was to be had. 

Here and there in the line a woman rode, holding 
a child before her, but for the most part the back- 
woods women tramped along with the men. Some 
mothers placed their infants in baskets, Indian fash- 
29 


i 


DANIEL BOONE 


ion, and hung them to the sides of the ponies. 
Others carried them slung to their backs or strad- 
dled across their hips. Early in life the little ones 
became accustomed to tramping and a boy or girl 
of ten years, born in the wilderness, made small 
matter of a ten or twelve miles journey on foot. 

At night they encamped near some spring or 
creek. Meat was broiled over the flames of the fire, 
and bread baked in the ashes. Each family or 
group of men made its fire in front of the shelter 
for the night, so that they might lie with their feet 
to it. A low structure, open in front and sloping 
towards the back, was readily raised by means of 
poles covered with skins. A comfortable bed was 
made of dry leaves or grass, with a blanket or pelt 
for covering. With such accommodations, these 
hardy, simple people deemed themselves well pro- 
vided for, and without doubt they enjoyed better 
health than would have been their lot under the 
softer conditions of city life. 

Boone and Mr. Sproul — whom it is needless to 
describe, for he does not figure any further in our 
story — were pacing the path in silence when several 
shots fired in rapid succession rang out. The sur- 
veyor dropped his pipe and stood paralyzed with 


30 


HARDY GOODFELLOW 


alarm. At the first sound the hunter had wheeled 
about, and before the last report, which his trained 
ear told him was half a mile at least in the rear, 
had died away, he was speeding past the string of 
pack-animals with his rifle in readiness. In passing 
he called on five men to follow him and ordered the 
remainder to guard the women and children. 

It was evident that the attack — for the character 
of the firing clearly indicated an attack — had been 
upon the party set to guard and drive the cattle, 
which often lagged a long way behind. Boone re- 
membered, with a sudden pang, that his young son 
was one of the cattle escort that day, and the thought 
spurred him onward. Presently a savage whoop of 
triumph broke upon his ears and the next instant 
he was upon the scene. 

The animals had plunged into the thicket and 
scattered. Six figures lay upon the earth, still in 
death. Five Indians, each exultantly brandishing a 
bleeding scalp, were in the act of diving into the 
neighboring undergrowth. A sixth bent over one 
of the prostrate forms, with his fingers entwined 
in the hair and knife raised to make the circular 
sweep in the crown of the head. Boone’s rifle went 
up, and had hardly touched his shoulder before it 


31 


DANIEL BOONE 


spoke. The Indian dropped, shot through the brain. 

The father had the poor consolation of having 
saved his boy’s body from mutilation. That to a 
backwoodsman was a source of satisfaction, but it 
did not go far towards mitigating Boone’s present 
grief. He stood for some minutes, leaning upon 
his rifle and looking down at the face of his dead 
boy. The convulsive twitching of his features told 
of the inward commotion. But there was urgent 
duty at hand and Boone sternly put his grief behind 
him and turned to it. When he lifted his head, his 
companions saw that the features, though drawn, 
were calm and the eyes keen and alert as ever. 

Reloading his rifle, Boone stepped into the forest 
at the point where the Indians had disappeared. In 
ten minutes’ time he rejoined the anxiously waiting 
men. 

“ Only seven,” he said. No likelihood of an- 
other attack. McCurdy, you go and fetch back 
five men — and don’t tell them what’s happened as 
yet.” 

With the reinforcement, the party set to work 
digging a broad and shallow grave, in which they 
laid their dead without further preparation or cere- 
mony. It was but an incident of backwoods life 


32 


HARDY GOODFELLOW 


and the men who performed the service to-day might 
be in need of it to-morrow. Having marked the 
grave with stones and blazed some neighboring 
trees, they rejoined the main body, which resumed 
the march, leaving the cattle to be sought for the 
next day. 

A little farther on, the party came upon a favor- 
able spot and went into camp for the night. As 
soon as Boone had made the shelter for his family 
.and built a fire, he devoted himself to comforting 
his stricken wife. But even this task could not be 
pursued uninterruptedly. The camp needed guard- 
ing with special vigilance. It is true that Boone 
believed the attack of the afternoon to have been 
made by a small party of wandering Indians who 
killed the settlers for the mere sake of securing their 
scalps. On the other hand, they might have been 
a scouting party sent out by a large band. Although 
Boone was as fearless as any man that ever lived, 
he was never imprudent, much less reckless. In 
the course of their conversation Mr. Sproul had said 
something about ‘‘trusting to Providence.” The 
hunter had replied that he didn’t “ believe in trust- 
ing to Providence until you have done all you can 


3 


33 


DANIEL BOONE 


for yourself. After that, Providence is much more 
likely to lend a willing hand.” 

As soon, therefore, as the other settlers had com- 
posed themselves to rest, Boone went out and seated 
himself upon a fallen tree, prepared to spend the 
night in watchfulness. His ears were alive to the 
slightest sound and he could instantly detect the 
origin of each. Now and again the stillness of the 
forest would be broken by the howl of a wolf, or 
the hoot of an owl. At such times the hunter would 
raise his head and listen intently, for the Indians 
imitated the cries of birds and animals in signalling 
to one another. Boone was himself a very good 
hand at that form of reproduction and was seldom 
deceived by the performance of another. 

Boone’s vigil had extended to the gray dawn when 
his attention was attracted by a dim figure moving 
on the farther side of the camp. He thought that 
it was probably one of the settlers suffering from 
indigestion or, perhaps, walking in his sleep. How- 
ever, prudence demanded that he should stalk the 
figure, and he accordingly slipped noiselessly round 
the back of the shelters in his moccasined feet. The 
manoeuvre brought him suddenly within sight of the 
person at a few feet distance. The light was just 


34 


HARDY GOODFELLOW 


strong enough to enable him to discern the form of 
a youth who was struggling to suppress the sobs that 
convulsed his frame at intervals. 

Boone took the boy by the arm and gently led 
him to the fallen tree by his own camp fire. 

“ Sit down,” he said. '' Now, what’s the trouble, 
young man? ” He spoke in a low, soft voice that 
told the lad that he had fallen in with a friend. 
“ Take your time,” continued the hunter, soothingly; 

I know it hurts, whatever it is, and you’re taking 
it like a man, anyhow.” 

He placed an arm across the boy’s shoulders and 
the youngster felt the touch strengthen and calm 
him as had not all the comforting words of the 
sympathetic settlers’ wives. After a while he con- 
trolled himself sufficiently to speak. 

“ My father was killed yesterday,” said the lad, 
at last, and — and I didn’t see him.” 

“ Too bad, too bad,” said Boone, drawing the 
boy closer to his side. “ I wouldn’t worry about 
not seeing him, though. I saw him — I buried him, 
and he looked peaceful and I don’t doubt is happier 
than you or me at this moment. Where’s your 
mother, young man ? ” 

Mother died long ago, before we left England.” 


35 


DANIEL BOONE 


‘‘ You don’t mean that you’re all alone? ” 

“ Yes, now that father’s dead, I’m all alone.” 

The thought of his utter loneliness overcame the 
lad, and for a few minutes he was again shaken 
with grief. Boone waited silently until the boy 
had somewhat recovered himself. Then he asked: 
“ What’s your name? ” 

“ Hardy Goodfellow, sir.” 

'' I like that name,” said the hunter. Hardy 
Goodfellow sounds like it ought to fit a backwoods- 
man. What are you going to do. Hardy?” The 
hunter did not wait for an answer to his question 
but went on : We can’t leave you here and there’s 
no way of sending you back, at present. Do you 
want to go on to Kentucky, Hardy ? ” 

Yes, I*d rather go on,” replied the lad. I 
think father would want me to, if he knew.” 

'' Why do you think he would ? ” 

“ Well, I’ve often heard him say he hated to see 
a man turn back when he’d once started to do any- 
thing — but, of course, I’m not a man.” 

“ I’m not so sure of that. Hardy. You don’t need 
to have a certain number of years nor a certain num- 
ber of feet to be a man, leastways not in the back- 
woods. It’s more a matter of the heart and head, 
36 


HARDY GOODFELLOW 


Hardy, and I think you’ve got as much pluck and 
sense as many of your elders.” 

After this speech the hunter lapsed into silent 
thought and so sat for ten or fifteen minutes. When 
he turned again to his young companion it was with 
an air of satisfied decision. 

‘‘ Hardy, the same Injuns that killed your father 
killed my son. The eldest he was — the other’s only 
a baby. Now, if you’re willin’, I’ll try to take the 
. place of your father and you shall take the place of 
our Jim. What do you say ? ” 

The boy strove to speak but his emotions choked 
him. He looked up at Boone and the hunter could 
see gratitude and joy written on his face. 

“ Shake on it — that’s enough,” said Boone, ex- 
tending his hand. ‘‘ That’s settled, then, and I 
don’t think either of us will ever be sorry for the 
bargain. My woman will make you a good mother 
and I’ll go bail you’ll make her a good son. Now 
crawl into your new home, Hardy, and get an hour’s 
sleep. I’ll stretch my legs a bit.” 

It may seem strange that Boone should on such 
short acquaintance have taken a boy into his family 
on the footing of a son. However, Boone’s judg- 
ment of human character amounted to almost unerr- 


37 


DANIEL BOONE 


ing intuition and he felt strongly drawn towards 
Hardy, largely perhaps on account of his recent 
bereavement. Moreover, he was not devoid of the 
backwoods trait of superstition, as was evidenced by 
his muttered remark as he turned on his heel after 
seeing the boy enter the shelter : “ Maybe the Lord 
meant it that way — who knows? ’’ 




♦ 


III. 

THE YOUNG HUNTER 


The emigrants show the white feather — They retrace 

THEIR STEPS TO NORTH CAROLINA — BoONE REFUSES TO TURN 
HIS BACK UPON KENTUCKY AND HaRDY PROVES STAUNCH — 

“Didn't we make a bargain?” — The new home in the 

CABIN ON THE CLINCH — HaRDY ENTERS UPON HIS BACK- 
WOODS EDUCATION — Boone finds him an apt and willing 
PUPIL — The hunting expeditions in the glorious Indian 
SUMMER — Hardy soon learns to shoot straight and to 
stalk a deer — Hardy has a lesson in tracking a man — 

“ I LAID FLAT, THINKING YOU MIGHT FIRE ” — WINTER TRAP- 
PING AND CAMPING — ThE INDIANS INVADE THE SETTLE- 
MENTS — Hardy serves in Dunmore’s War, 

When the first rays of the rising sun called the 
settlers from their rude couches, Boone appeared in 
camp, after a bath in the branch, as fresh and alert 
as though he had enjoyed a long rest like the others. 
The night before he had instructed them not to 
strike their shelters in the morning, for he designed 
to remain in the camp until the next day and devote 
the interval to searching for the strayed cattle. 


39 


DANIEL BOONE 


These were a very valuable property. Their milk 
was needed for the young children, and they were 
intended to form the nucleus of the stock in the 
new settlement. A party was sent out to search the 
thickets, but Boone was doomed to meet with a great 
disappointment before the close of the day and to 
have his cherished plans entirely upset. 

At about noon the heads of the families among 
the emigrants came to the leader and expressed their 
determination to return. The attack of the da}^ 
before had convinced them that the Indians would 
oppose their farther progress, and they deemed it 
suicidal to venture into an unknown region, far 
beyond the limits of settlement. Many of the other 
men were married and had joined the expedition 
with a view to prospecting for land. These, also, 
were bent on returning to their homes. A few of 
the single men, who had no ties, were indifferent as 
to their future course, and of these perhaps half a 
dozen stayed in the district. 

Boone felt that if there was to be any turning 
back, the sooner it took place the better, and he did 
not try to dissuade the settlers from their purpose. 
For his own part, he had made up his mind to go 
to Kentucky and get there he would. He should 


40 


THE YOUNG HUNTER 

stay where he was until an opportunity for going 
forward presented itself. 

While this understanding was being reached, 
Hardy stood beside his adoptive father, an inter- 
ested listener. Boone now turned to him. 

‘‘ Hardy,’’ he said, with a grim smile, “ here’s a 
fine chance to go back again, if you want to.” 

The boy looked up at the hunter with an expres- 
sion of mingled surprise and reproach. 

‘‘ Didn’t we make a bargain ? ” he asked. 

That we did. Hardy,” replied Boone heartily, 
slapping the lad on the back, ‘‘ that we did, and 
I’m to blame for doubting you.” 

So it was settled, and the next morning the entire 
party set out on the back trail. Boone accompanied 
the returning settlers for a distance of about forty 
miles and then bade them farewell and good luck. 
They parted company in the Valley of the Clinch, 
near the headwaters of the river of that name. 
Boone had noticed a deserted cabin and a small clear- 
ing on the banks of the stream and had marked 
the place for his future home. When the retreating 
band had disappeared from view, Boone turned his 
pack-horses towards the spot and before nightfall 


41 


DANIEL BOONE 


his little family was comfortably ensconced in the 
lonely hut. 

The Boones were not beyond the bounds of settle- 
ment. During the few years previous to their 
arrival, restless pioneers from the borders of Vir- 
ginia and North Carolina had pushed out to the 
valleys this side of the Cumberland Mountains, and 
there were several scattered stations at no great 
distance, as backwoodsmen computed distance. In- 
deed, Russeirs Station was next door, being only 
eight miles away. Boone felt confident that among 
these adventurous spirits he would soon find some 
to make up another expedition for the settlement of 
Kentucky. Meanwhile, there was much to be done. 
The cabin needed repairing and the clearing had to 
be attended to. Then there was the winter’s stock 
of meat to be laid in and some furs, which, as we 
have said, represented money, to be secured. 

Then commenced for Hardy Goodfellow the hap- 
piest time of his life. Boone, as soon as he had 
seen his wife and little ones comfortably settled at 
home, began to take hunting trips. This was a very 
necessary part of a backwoodsman’s life, and his 
wife was quite accustomed to being left alone for 
weeks and months at a time. For Hardy these ex- 


42 


THE YOUNG HUNTER 


cursions afforded the most delightful experience and 
the most useful education. While he was some- 
what better schooled than the average backwoods 
boy, he was almost a greenhorn in the matters that 
went to the making of an accomplished frontiers- 
man, his father having but recently arrived with him 
from England. He had, however, unusual advan- 
tages to favor his development into an expert back- 
woodsman. He was a lusty, well-formed lad, 
rather tall for his fourteen years. His childhood 
had been passed in a rural district, and he delighted 
in outdoor life. He possessed, as Boone had quickly 
discerned, plenty of pluck and an ample fund of 
common sense. But Hardy’s greatest good fortune 
lay in having such an instructor as Boone who, be- 
sides being an expert hunter and a master of wood- 
craft, was a man of splendid character and one cal- 
culated to stimulate and develop the inherent good 
qualities in a pupil. 

The glorious “ Indian summer ” of the South was 
upon them when they began these wanderings to- 
gether. Their days were spent mainly in hunting 
deer, the skins of which were worth a dollar apiece 
and the meat the most desirable for storing. Under 
Boone’s directions Hardy soon learned to shoot 
43 


DANIEL BOONE 


straight, and also became fairly adept in stalking 
the game. After a while the hunter would allow his 
young companion to take the direction of the day’s 
hunt, when Hardy would be required to calculate 
from the state of the weather and the condition of 
the surrounding country where the deer were likely 
to be found, and to decide from the course of the 
wind upon the point at which they were to be 
approached. 

Every minute of the day added to the boy’s knowl- 
edge and his strength, while his powers of observa- 
tion and reasoning steadily developed. Hunting is 
hard work and Boone was no light taskmaster, but 
despite the fatigue and the bruises and the scratches, 
Hardy fairly revelled in his new experience, as any 
healthy boy would. As they tramped along, Boone 
showed the eager youngster how to detect ‘‘ signs ” 
of Indians and animals ; how to tell whether an up- 
turned stone or leaf had been disturbed by the wind 
or by the foot of man or beast. He explained to 
him how, from the barks of trees and other indica- 
tions, to determine the points of the compass, so 
that he might travel the wilderness without guide. 
They studied the habits of birds and animals and 
practiced mimicking their cries. 




44 


THE YOUNG HUNTER 


Sometimes they would halt in a small glade and 
Boone would set up a mark for Hardy to shoot at, 
impressing upon him the wisdom of never pressing 
trigger until he should be sure of his aim. This 
exercise was varied with that of throwing the toma- 
hawk, a very useful accomplishment. The Indian 
fighter who expended a shot without bringing down 
his foe, might riot have time to reload, when he 
would have to resort to the weapons in his belt. On 
such and many other occasions the tomahawk came 
into play. At times they would engage in running 
matches and wrestling bouts, and although at first 
the hunter could pick Hardy up by the belt and hold 
him at arm’s length, the boy soon became too strong 
and agile to be treated as an altogether indifferent 
antagonist. 

As they were constantly on the move, they made 
what was called an '' open ” camp, — that is to say, 
at night they rolled themselves in their blankets 
under the sky, or beneath the trees. As they sat be- 
side their fire, after the meal of venison and corn- 
bread, Boone would instruct Hardy in the ways of 
Indians, or tell him tales of frontier life — stories of 
hairbreadth escape from wild beast or cruel Indian ; 
of women defending their cabins in the absence of 


45 


DANIEL BOONE 


their men; of fierce fights; of captivity and torture; 
of wanderings in the trackless wilds; of various 
adventures in a world that was as yet little known 
to the lad. The hunter liked to tell and Hardy to 
hear of Boone’s excursions into Kentucky — ^how he 
spent three months alone, hundreds of miles from a 
white man and without even a horse or dog for com- 
pany; how the Indians captured him, and how, he 
escaped. These stories fired Hardy with an intense 
longing to become a full-fledged frontiersman, and 
he bent every effort towards that end. 

Sometimes Hardy would awake in the morning 
to find Boone gone. Then he understood that he 
was expected to trail the hunter to the next camp. 
The man took care that the task should not be too 
difficult and Hardy met with such success that he 
was quite elated at it. One night he boasted of his 
skill and the next day received a lesson that abated 
his pride and convinced him that he had a great deal 
yet to learn. 

The next morning Hardy found himself alone and 
at once started off on Boone’s trace, which was 
plainly visible. He followed it with comparative 
ease until some time after noon. Then he began to 
be uncertain and at last was entirely at a loss. For 
46 


THE YOUNG HUNTER 


hours he wandered about, carefully examining the 
ground, the bushes, and the trees, but not a sign 
could he find. For all trace of him that Hardy 
could see, the hunter might have flown straight up 
from the earth. Evening found the lad still at 
fault. There was nothing for it but to camp for 
the night. 

Hardy felt somewhat downcast as he looked 
around for a resting place. He had perfect confi- 
dence in Boone and knew that he would turn up 
on the morrow, but it was the first time that Hardy 
had been alone in the wilderness and he didn’t quite 
like the experience. However, he concluded to 
make the best of it, and to hearten himself, said 
aloud : 

Cheer up. Hardy! You’ll never make a fron- 
tiersman if you’re afraid to be alone in the woods.” 

A short chuckling laugh ‘came from the depths of 
the neighboring undergrowth. Hardy started and 
peered apprehensively into the gloaming, his rifle 
half way to his shoulder. He could see nothing 
to cause alarm and the most profound silence 
reigned. 

'' Ugh ! a gobbler I reckon,” concluded Hardy, 
turning once more to his preparations for the night. 


47 


DANIEL BOONE 


He made a fire and was broiling a venison steak 
on the end of his ramrod, when a well-known voice 
greeted him with, Got a bit of meat to spare. 
Hardy? ” and Boone strode into the circle of light, 
a quizzical smile overspreading his face. He took 
in the preparations for the night’s camp at a glance, 
rested his rifle against a tree within arm’s reach, and 
sat down beside the young hunter. 

It goes without saying that Hardy was delighted 
to have his adoptive father with him just as he was 
looking forward to a solitary and cheerless night, 
but he was not a little nettled to learn that Boone, 
after purposely throwing him off the track, had 
stalked him to his camp and was able to tell him of 
every movement that he had made. 

“ Son,” said the hunter, after he had explained 
the situation, “ if I had been an Injun, I’m afraid 
that you’d a had less har on your head than you 
have. But I shouldn’t have laughed just now. 
That was foolish. As soon as I’d done it, I laid flat, 
thinking you might fire. I was glad to see that you 
minded what I’ve told you, not to shoot till you can 
see what you’re shooting at. You’ve nothing to be 
ashamed of, son. Dan’l Boone’s thrown many an 
Injun off his track before now.” 

48 


THE YOUNG HUNTER 


Notwithstanding the reassuring remarks of his 
mentor, Hardy had sense enough to realize from 
this incident that he was not so smart as he had 
imagined himself to be, and he redoubled his efforts 
to become expert in woodcraft. 

With the approach of winter the hunters took 
out pack-horses and brought home the skins from 
where they had cached them. They also laid in a 
store of smoked venison. Some time was spent in 
making the cabin weather-tight and in cutting logs 
for the great fireplace. In this work Hardy learned 
to wield the long-handled backwoods axe, which was 
as important a factor in frontier life as the rifle. 
When all was made snug at home, the hunters were 
ready to set out again. 

Hardy now entered upon an entirely new experi- 
ence. Winter hunting he found quite different 
from what had gone before. They did not wander 
about, as in the fall, but stayed in one place for 
weeks at a time. . Trapping was their chief occupa- 
tion, and their object to secure the furs of beaver, 
otter, mink, and other desirable animals. The rifle 
was only used for the purpose of providing food. 

They had plenty of tramping to do, for making 
the rounds of the traps involved a journey of several 


4 


49 


DANIEL BOONE 


miles; but at night they always came back to the 
spot where their shelter stood and where their stores 
were kept. This was called a closed ” camp, or a 
“ half-faced cabin.” It was made in the following 
manner : A log was placed for the back and two or 
three logs along each side. These were chinked 
with moss to keep out the cold wind. Boughs or 
poles were laid over the top and skins or bark cov- 
ered these, sloping down to the back-log. The 
shelter was open in front. 

When Indians were not to be feared, a fire was 
kept burning before the cabin all night and the hunt- 
ers lay with their stockinged feet to it, their wet 
moccasins being hung to dry. The bed was made of 
boughs covered with a blanket, or a skin with the 
hair on it. Except in the very severest weather, 
this kind of shelter afforded sufficient protection to 
the hardy hunters. During the winter of 1773- 
1774, Boone and Hardy Goodfellow occupied such 
a camp during two trapping expeditions which re- 
sulted in good takes. 

With the approach of spring, conditions on the 
border became such that Boone was obliged to aban- 
don hunting and take up another phase of the back- 
woodsman’s life, that of Indian fighter. 


50 


THE YOUNG HUNTER 


With the increase of population in the colonies 
and the corresponding increased demand for lands, 
the border had been steadily pushed forward 
towards the Indian country. The savages had grad- 
ually become alarmed at the threatened invasion of 
their hunting-grounds and at the time of our story 
were preparing to contest the advance in force. 
They had shown many evidences of ill temper, but 
as yet no open declaration of war had been made. 
There were frequent conflicts between small parties 
or individuals of the two races and, in fact, when- 
ever a redman met a white the rifle generally came 
into immediate play. Now, however, there were in- 
dications that the tribes upon the western border 
were preparing to go on the war-path unitedly. 

Although the backwoodsmen were a fine class 
as a whole, there were among them some ruffians. 
In the spring of 1774, a band of such men com- 
mitted a dastardly deed that acted as a firebrand 
upon the inflammable minds of the Cherokees and 
Shawnees. This was no less than the cold-blooded 
and unprovoked murder of the family of Chief 
Logan. Logan was an Indian of exceptionally fine 
character and peaceable disposition, and the whites, 
no less than his own people, deplored the outrage. 


51 


DANIEL BOONE 


The Indians were aroused to a pitch of fury. The 
tomahawk was dug up; the war-pipe was carried 
through the villages; runners were sent to recall 
hunting parties; and all the usual preparations for 
a war to the knife were put in train. 

The danger was, of course, greatest on the fron- 
tier, and every man and boy who could bear arms 
was mustered into the militia. Boone received a 
commission as captain and was given command of 
three stockaded forts, in one of which Hardy Good- 
fellow served as rifleman. A few hundred soldiers 
were distributed among the frontier posts but they 
were not the valuable accession that might be sup- 
posed. The regulars always proved to be much 
inferior to the Indians in forest fights. The former 
were brave enough but utterly ignorant of the tac- 
tics of backwoods warfare. In conflicts with the 
savages, one frontiersman was worth a score of 
redcoats. 

But before actual hostilities had broken out, it was 
found that a company of land prospectors and sur- 
veyors were in Kentucky, with great danger of being 
cut off and massacred. Lord Dunmore, the Gover- 
nor of Virginia, sent a messenger to the Clinch 
Valley with the request that Boone and another 


52 


THE YOUNG HUNTER 


should go out and endeavor to bring the party back. 
Boone immediately accepted the dangerous and diffi- 
cult task and taking with him Michael Stoner, a 
backwoodsman of experience, started upon the long 
journey without delay. “If they are alive,’’ wrote 
Russell to Colonel Preston, the commandant in the 
Valley, “ it is indisputable but Boone must find 
them.” So, indeed, he did and accomplished his 
errand successfully, having travelled upwards of 
eight hundred miles in sixty-five days, including a 
halt of more than a week. 

A detailed description of Dunmore’s War, as it 
is called, is not necessary to our story. Suffice it 
to say that after a fierce battle, in which fifteen hun- 
dred braves were opposed by a force of frontiers- 
men, under General Lewis, the Indians were glad 
to sue for peace and entered into a treaty waiving 
all claim to the country now known as Kentucky. 

Boone and Hardy, who had their share of the 
fighting, came through the campaign without serious 
mishap. Before the close of the year they were 
cheered by the opening of a prospect of pursuing 
the desire which both possessed to go on to the fair 
land of Kentucky. 


IV. 

THE DARING PIONEER 


Colonel Henderson plans a semi-independent republic — 
He employs Boone to spy out the land — Boone makes 

A HAZARDOUS JOURNEY INTO KENTUCKY ALONE — He LOCATES 
THE SITE OF BoONESBOROUGH AND AFTER SIX WEEKS* 
ABSENCE RETURNS — BoONE GATHERS THE INDIAN CHIEFS AT 

Sycamore Shoals — The Indians sell Kentucky to 
Henderson and his associates — Boone with a small 

BAND STARTS OUT TO BLAZE THE WAY INTO THE INTERIOR — 

They are attacked by Indians and see buffalo for the 
FIRST time — They commence the erection of a fort — 
Hundreds of speculators flock to the new territory. 

The important part played by Daniel Boone in 
the settlement of Kentucky was due to the extra- 
ordinary combination of qualities possessed by this 
ideal backwoodsman, a combination which was not 
found in any other of the pioneers who were asso- 
ciated with him. George Rogers Clark was his 
superior in intellect, but Clark lacked Boone’s calm, 
even temper and infinite patience. Kenton was as 
fearless, but he had not Boone’s prudence and fore- 
sight. Harrod, Logan, Todd, and others were able 

54 


THE DARING PIONEER 


captains, but each was wanting in some of the quali- 
ties that combined to fit Boone so perfectly for the 
role he filled in frontier history. 

The men of the border, with their independent 
dispositions, were extremely difficult to control. 
Even when imminent danger demanded concerted 
action, they were amenable only to the lightest dis- 
cipline. If they followed a leader, it was not from 
any consideration of their obligations as militiamen, 
but because they had confidence in him and personal 
regard for him. These sentiments Boone excited 
in almost every one with whom he came in contact, 
and his influence over the rough, untrammelled back- 
woods fighters was probably greater than that ex- 
erted by any other leader. In the time of dire dan- 
ger and stress that came upon the Kentucky settlers, 
when hundreds fled at the approach of the storm, 
had not Boone stood his ground, the new country 
must have been deserted. 

The afifection and respect which the settlers 
evinced for Boone were enhanced by the fact that 
he was in all respects one of themselves. Born on 
the border, of backwoods parentage, he was wedded 
to the hard life led by the frontier people, and like 
most of them he was poor and unlettered. There 


55 


DANIEL BOONE 


is much in his simple, honest character, with its 
homely common sense and cheery humor, to remind 
us of Abraham Lincoln, and it is not difficult to be- 
lieve that Lincoln, under similar circumstances, 
would have been just such a backwoodsman as 
Boone. 

The high qualities which made Daniel Boone a 
natural leader among his fellows were not lost upon 
men of superior station with whom he happened to 
have relations. Colonel Richard Henderson, of 
Granville County, North Carolina, had the highest 
opinion of the pioneer’s character and ability. Hen- 
derson was a judge whose circuit included the back- 
woods town of Hillsboro, and here he had frequently 
met Boone at the time that the latter lived upon the 
Yadkin. In fact, there is a tradition that Boone 
once saved Henderson from ill-treatment, if not 
death, at the hands of a band of Regulators. 

Boone’s descriptions of Kentucky had keenly in- 
terested the Judge and ultimately awoke in his mind 
the idea of establishing in that wonderful region a 
semi-independent republic, to be called Transylvania. 
Of course, such a movement would meet with the 
disapprobation of the British authorities, but active 
opposition was hardly to be feared in such a remote 
56 


THE DARING PIONEER 


part of the country. Three brothers named Hart 
who, like Colonel Henderson, were men of means, 
associated themselves with him in this romantic 
project. The defeat of the Indians in Dunmore’s 
War and the subsequent treaty of peace seemed to 
open a promising prospect of prosecuting the enter- 
prise with success. 

Towards the close of the year. Colonel Hender- 
son put himself in communication with Boone, in 
whose judgment and discretion he had, as we have 
said, implicit confidence. The plan was outlined to 
the backwoodsman and his services as prospector 
were readily secured. Though Boone was not, per- 
haps, so sanguine as the promoters in the ultimate 
success of the undertaking, he fully appreciated its 
advantages as a preliminary step. He knew that 
in the past, the dwellers upon the frontier had been 
left to fight their own battles and manage their own 
affairs, with no considerable aid from the colonial 
authorities, and he did not believe that they would 
fare much better in the contemplated case with a 
corporation at their backs; but he realized that the 
efforts of Henderson and his associates might have 
a powerful effect in starting the settlement and he 
entered into the scheme with hearty good-will. 


57 


A «k \ 


DANIEL BOONE 

Leaving Hardy, who was duly proud of the re- 
sponsibility, to look after the family on the Clinch, 
Boone started in January, 1775, upon a solitary ex- 
pedition into Kentucky. His ostensible purpose was 
hunting, but in reality he was engaged in spying out 
the land for his employers. He struck the Kentucky 
River near the Virginia border and followed it to 
the site of Harrodsburg, which had been surveyed 
the year before. Thence he took a diagonal course 
across the great valley to the Cumberland Gap, and 
so home. 

It was a hazardous journey, but just such an ad- 
venture as Boone delighted in. He found a genuine 
pleasure in the solitude of the wilderness, and felt 
safer when alone than with a companion whose im- 
prudence might lead him into trouble. Kentucky 
was the common hunting-groShd of several tribes 
and did not contain any permanent Indian villages. 
There were, therefore, few savages about in the 
winter. Perils of other kinds were, however, plenti- 
^ful. Panthers, wolves, and bears sometimes at- 
tacked lone men. There was the possibility of be- 
coming lost or, worse still, of suffering a crippling 
accident. Imagine the plight of a man with a 
broken leg, lying in the snowy wastes hundreds of 
58 


THE DARING PIONEER 


miles from a human being. Such a fate befell 
more than one scout and pioneer, but Boone accom- 
plished his task without mishap and returned after 
an absence of about six weeks to the cabin on the 
Clinch. 

When Boone reported the result of his observa- 
tions to Colonel Henderson and his associates, who 
now called themselves the Transylvania Company, 
it was determined to entrust him with a task calling 
for qualities of a different nature from those exer- 
cised in his exploration. It was proposed by the 
Company to purchase from the Cherokees the land 
which they decided on Boone’s recommendation to 
settle, and to him was entrusted the matter of open- 
ing negotiations. 

It should be understood that the Cherokees had 
no better title to the territory in question than had 
the Choctaws, Shawnees, or Iroquois. In fact, the 
last named had some few years previous transferred 
to the British Crown all the lands lying between 
the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers. However, the 
Company felt that its position would be strength- 
ened by securing some title, however shadowy, from 
an Indian tribe, and the Cherokees were selected 
because they commanded the path that would be 


59 


DANIEL BOONE 


followed by the settlers from the South in going 
to the new country. 

As usual, Boone accomplished his errand and in 
March brought twelve hundred Cherokees to the 
Sycamore Shoals, on the Watauga River, where the 
promoters met them and after considerable bicker- 
ing struck a bargain. It was agreed that in con- 
sideration of the payment of fifty thousand dollars, 
the tribe should cede to Henderson and his partners 
in the Transylvania Company all the land lying be- 
tween the Kentucky and Cumberland Rivers, and 
should allow them a free road to the region through 
Powell’s Valley and the Cumberland Gap. 

According to the general practice of the time, the 
purchase price was paid in merchandise, consisting 
of cloth, clothing, guns, ammunition, cooking uten- 
sils, hatchets, and ornaments. The goods filled a 
large cabin but when it came to distributing them, 
each warrior’s share proved to be small. One brave, 
to whom was allotted a deerskin hunting-shirt, ex- 
pressed his disgust in no uncertain terms. What a 
fool he had been, he said, to sell for such an article 
his hunting-grounds, where in a single day he could 
kill deer enough to make half a dozen such garments. 

Thus, at the outset, the arrangement met with 


6o 


THE DARING PIONEER 


the dissatisfaction of the Indians. Indeed, before 
the meeting broke up one of the chiefs warned 
Boone that he must not expect to effect the settle- 
ment of the region without trouble. He pointed 
out, truthfully enough, that the Indian chiefs could 
no more control their young men than the frontier 
leaders could the hot-heads among themselves. The 
Cherokees as a nation might, he said, be at peace 
y/ith the Virginians — they called all frontiersmen 
Virginians ” — and a few individuals on either side 
wantonly commit some act that would bring on war. 
The chiefs could not, he declared, guarantee the 
safety of emigrants upon the promised path, much 
less of settlers in Kentucky itself. 

This was not very promising, but it did not daunt 
the promoters, for they had expected nothing better. 
All they had looked for from the agreement was 
something that would give them a moral right to 
fight for the possession of the land and entitle them 
to the countenance of the Crown authorities. In 
this hope they were, however, immediately disap- 
pointed; for the Governors of North Carolina and 
Virginia denounced the transaction as soon as 
knowledge of it reached them. 

By this time the colonists, and especially those on 

6i 


DANIEL BOONE 


the borders, had begun to treat the representatives 
of King George with scant respect, and the Transyl- 
vania Company was in no measure deterred from the 
prosecution of its enterprise by the proclamations 
issued against it by Governors Martin and Dun- 
more. Boone counselled immediate action, reason- 
ing that the Indians might be expected to observe 
the treaty for a few months and that by driving the 
entering wedge home before they should awake to 
active opposition, much would be gained. In this 
view the promoters concurred and again they relied 
upon their trusty agent to carry out their designs. 

In his expedition of the preceding January, Boone 
had marked a spot for the first settlement of the 
Transylvania Company, and now it was arranged 
that he should go out at the head of a body of thirty 
picked backwoodsmen to mark a path through the 
wilderness to the place selected. The party started 
immediately after the conclusion of the meeting 
on the Watauga and arrived at their destination on 
the sixth day of April. They encountered many 
difficulties on the way and were more than once 
attacked by Indians, several of their number being 
killed and wounded. 

The point at which it was decided to locate the 


62 


THE DARING PIONEER 


capital town of Transylvania, as the colony was to 
be called, was Big Lick, just below Otter Creek on 
the Kentucky River. The site was a plain on the 
south side of the river, and as the pioneers ap- 
proached it they were confronted with a sight which 
to most of them was entirely novel. Hundreds of 
buffalo occupied the destined ground, where they 
were engaged in licking the earth for the salt with 
which it was impregnated. As the men advanced, 
the huge beasts scattered in every direction, some 
running, some walking, others loping carelessly 
along with young calves skipping and bounding 
at their sides. Such a sight was common enough 
in Kentucky at that time, but soon after the advent 
of white men the great herds of bison moved west- 



The pioneers immediately commenced the erec- 
tion of a fort and raised a few cabins along the 
river bank, but it was long before the stockade of 
Boonesbo rough, as the settlement was named, was 
completed. In the absence of women, it was hard 
to induce the backwoodsmen to devote themselves 
to measures of defence while such tempting oppor- 
tunities for hunting presented themselves. They 
were a self-confident and somewhat reckless lot. 


DANIEL BOONE 


Their first thought was to mark off a claim by a 
rude method of surveying which entailed endless 
after trouble. Their second, to pursue the game 
which abounded in a plenteousness far surpassing 
anything in their past experience. 

Before the close of April, Colonel Henderson 
arrived with a reinforcement of thirty men and a 
quantity of tools and ammunition. In the succeed- 
ing months arrivals were numerous from various 
quarters and by different routes. During the course 
of the year upwards of five hundred men from the 
frontiers of Pennsylvania, Virginia, and North 
Carolina went into Kentucky, but the majority of 
them were not settlers. Some were merely hunters 
but the greater number land speculators or cab- 
iners,” as they were termed, who ran up a shanty on 
a piece of land as evidence of occupation and re- 
turned to the colonies in the hope of selling the 
tract. 

At the close of the summer Boone brought in his 
family from the Clinch Valley and his wife and 
daughters were, as he proudly declared, “ the first 
white women to stand on the banks of the Ken- 
tucky.” Shortly afterwards, several other families 
came in, and there were before the end of Septem- 
64 


THE DARING PIONEER 


ber four or five settlements, the principal being 
Boonesborough and Harrodsburg, about fifty miles 
to the west of the former place. Two or three hun- 
dred acres of corn had been planted, fruit trees had 
been set, and horses, cattle and hogs had been in- 
troduced. 

The settlers were for the most part of Scotch- 
Irish extraction, sturdy, patriotic men, attaching 
themselves to the soil with a tenacity that nothing 
could shake. In the struggle to maintain their 
homes in the new territory they greatly aided their 
countrymen in the Revolution, which was just about 
to break out. Indeed, they guarded the western 
flank of the colonies and even carried the war into 
the Crown dominions on the north. Among those 
who came into Kentucky in this first year of its set- 
tlement were a number whose names figure promi- 
nently in border story and in the history of our west- 
ern march — George Rogers Clark, Simon Kenton, 
the Lewises, Benjamin Logan, James Harrod, John 
Todd, the brothers McAfee, Bowman, Hite, Ran- 
dolph, McClellan. 

During the latter months of 1775 the Indians 
gave little trouble and many settlers began to con- 
gratulate themselves upon the prospect of occupying 
5 65 


DANIEL BOONE 


the land without serious opposition, but in the clos- 
ing days of the year several attacks were made on 
the whites at different points. These were the sig- 
nal for the hurried departure of the timid, and of 
speculators, surveyors, and others who had no per- 
manent interests in the country, making it apparent 
that in time of stress the tenure of the land would 
depend upon a few bold spirits. 

In order to dispose of the Transylvania Company 
once for all, we shall anticipate the course of time 
somewhat. The settlers found many causes of dis- 
satisfaction with the Company’s methods of manag- 
ing affairs, and the declaration of independence by 
the colonies in July, 1776, made it evident that a 
proprietary government could not long exist. Un- 
der the circumstances, the settlers of Kentucky 
wished for definite inclusion in the new republic 
and with that view they sent a delegation to the 
Virginia Assembly praying that body to give them 
recognition as part of the State. In accordance with 
this petition, Kentucky was organized as a county of 
Virginia, with David Robinson as county lieutenant, 
John Bowman colonel, Anthony Bledsoe and George 
Rogers Clark majors, and Daniel Boone, James Har- 
rod, Benjamin Logan and John Todd captains. 

66 


THE DARING PIONEER 


Ultimately the Transylvania Company was compen- 
sated for the forfeiture of its possessions by a large 
grant of land. 

But before all this happened, Kentucky had en- 
tered"' upon the stormy days that earned for it the 
grim title of the dark and bloody ground.” 


V. 

IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


The settlers find themselves in a rich and beautiful 
LAND — But soon learn that they must fight for the 
possession of it — A night alarm on the border — How A 
woman and two children defended their home — The 
stockade at Boonesborough — Two girls carried off by 

THE SAVAGES — HaRDY RAISES AN ALARM AND A PARTY IS 
SOON IN HOT PURSUIT — BoONE CIRCUMVENTS THE WILY 

REDSKINS — They are overtaken and caught unprepared 

— A VOLLEY, A CHARGE, AND THE GIRLS ARE SAFE — BACK TO 

Boonesborough and a happy reunion. 

The country in which Boone and his companions 
found themselves differed greatly from the gloomy, 
forest-covered region that they had left. Here were 
extensive forests, it is true, but they were not so 
dense as those along the Alleghanies, and further- 
more they were interspersed with stretches of fertile 
plain and valleys of succulent grass. Hill and vale, 
river-bottom and prairie, timber-land and cane- 
brake, succeeded one another in pleasing variety and 
offered the widest opportunities for agricultural 
pursuits. Game was so plentiful that the settler 


68 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


might almost shoot it from his door-sill, but this 
very abundance induced to reckless and unnecessary 
killing, with the result that in a few years there 
was an actual scarcity and more than once the little 
community was hard pressed to secure a sufficient 
supply of food. The wanton killing of game 
continued until recent years. 

Settlers were allowed to acquire lands on very 
easy terms. An advertisement inserted by Hender- 
son in the newspapers of Virginia stated that : “Any 
person who will settle on and inhabit the same before 
the first day of June, 1776, shall have the privilege 
of taking up and surveying for himself five hun- 
dred acres, and for each tithable person he may 
carry with him and settle there, two hundred and 
fifty acres, on the payment of fifty shillings sterling 
per hundred, subject to a yearly quit-rent of two 
shillings, like money, to commence in the year 1780.” 
The deeds required the holders of the lands to pay 
this nominal rent “ yearly and every year for ever,” 
so that had the Company's title been confirmed, a 
large portion of Kentucky might have been subject 
to proprietary control at this day. 

Having selected his land, the settler proceeded 
to clear it of timber and brush and to erect upon 
69 


DANIEL BOONE 


it a cabin. In this work he was aided by his neigh- 
bors, and himself stood ready to help the next comer. 

^ The farms were widely separated from one another 
and were in many cases situated several miles from 
the town or fort. Families lived upon them in times 
of quiet and almost invariably in the winter, when 
it was the habit of the Indians to retire to their vil- 
lages. During troublous periods, one half of the 
men were engaged in scouting and guarding the 
settlement, whilst the other half tilled the ground. 
Often runners would make the rounds of the outly- 
ing farms warning the occupants of impending 
attack. There might not be a moment to spare, in 
which case all the worldly possessions of the family 
would be abandoned and they would make a hasty 
retreat to the stockaded village. 

Doctor Doddridge, who was born and reared on 
the frontier says : “ I well remember that when a 
little boy the family were sometimes waked up in 
the dead of night by an express with a report that 
the Indians were at hand. The express came softly 
to the door or back window, and by gently tapping 
waked the family ; this was easily done, as an 
habitual fear made us ever watchful and sensible 
to the slightest alarm. The whole family were in- 


70 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


stantly in motion: my father seized his gun and 
other implements of war; my stepmother waked up 
and dressed the children as well as she could; and 
being myself the oldest of the children, I had to 
take my share of the burthens to be carried to the 
fort. There was no possibility of getting a horse 
in the night to aid us in removing to the fort; be- 
sides the little children, we caught up what articles 
of clothing and provisions we could get hold of in 
the dark, for we durst not light a candle or even 
stir the fire. All this was done with the utmost 
despatch and the silence of death ; the greatest care 
was taken not to awaken the youngest child; to 
the rest it was enough to say ‘ Indian,’ and not a 
whimper was heard afterwards. Thus it often hap- 
pened that the whole number of families belonging 
to a fort, who were in the evening at their homes, 
were all in their little fortress before the dawn of 
the next morning. In the course of the succeeding 
day their household furniture was brought in by 
parties of the men und-er arms.” 

On the other hand, it frequently happened that 
'Vvhen the assembled settlers looked round after such 
a hasty gathering, it was discovered that one or 
another family was missing. Then a party of men 


71 


DANIEL BOONE 


would go out after them and, if fortunate, bring 
them in, but it might be that they had wandered 
from the trail in the darkness and become lost, or 
that they had encountered the savages and been mas- 
sacred. Some men of reckless disposition would 
not leave their cabins until actually forced to do so 
by the approach of the enemy, or would return to 
their farms before the removal of danger. Such 
individuals caused serious trouble to the settlers with 
whom they were associated and often jeopardized 
their safety. 

Such warnings as we have described were atten- 
dant upon the advance of the Indians in force, but 
the lone cultivator, upon his isolated farm, was in 
constant danger of attack from small bands or single 
savages that skulked unseen through the forest. 
The clearing was generally surrounded by woods 
or thicket that afforded ample cover to the foe in 
his stealthy approach. The settler, driving his team 
along the furrow, never knew but that watchful eyes 
were following his every movement, awaiting the 
opportunity for a favorable shot at him. His boy, 
going to the spring for water, might be suddenly 
seized from behind, gagged before he could utter a 
sound, and carried away to meet a cruel death, or 


72 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


to be brought up in some Indian’s wigwam. The 
mother, standing in the doorway of the cabin, obliv- 
ious to all danger, might be shot through the heart 
in the very sight of her husband. Perhaps, when 
the head of the family was away on a short hunt, or 
a trip to the fort, a party of Indians who had pa- 
tiently awaited the chance for days would make an 
attack on the cabin. If the occupants had time to 
throw the heavy bolts across the door, there was a 
fair chance of their beating off the assailants, even 
though their success depended upon the courage of 
one woman and a half-grown boy. Many a thrill- 
ing border story turns upon the heroism of frontier 
women and children under such circumstances. 

A typical affair of the kind occurred in Nelson 
County, Kentucky, during the year 1791. A party 
of about a score of Indians attacked the cabin of 
a settler named Merrill. The place was at some 
distance from the nearest habitation and no help 
could reasonably be looked for. The family were 
taken entirely unawares, the first intimation of the 
presence of the dreaded redskins being a volley 
from the neighboring brush aimed at the father 
who was working near his home. He fell griev- 
ously wounded but contrived to struggle to his feet 


73 


DANIEL BOONE 


and staggered into the cabin with the foremost 
savage at his heels. The wife of the settler suc- 
ceeded, however, in closing the door and throwing 
the heavy bar across it, before the Indian could 
enter. Meanwhile, her husband sank helpless upon 
the floor. 

The defence of the home now depended upon 
the woman and her son and daughter, neither of 
whom was much more than a child. But the des- 
perate situation did not daunt the brave mother. 
She seized an axe and prepared to defend the fam- 
ily as best she might with it. There were no fire- 
arms in the cabin. Merrill, after the manner of 
backwoodsmen of the time, had carried his rifle to 
work with him and after being hit had been unable 
to regain it from the tree against which it had been 
placed. 

The assailants at once began to hack an opening 
in the door with their tomahawks and of course 
the defenders were unable to offer any obstruction 
to this proceeding. At length a hole was made big 
enough for a man to squeeze through and one of 
the savages entered the room by this means. The 
woman stood beside the door with axe poised and 
as soon as the Indian was fairly inside, but before 


74 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


he could rise to his feet, she brought the weapon 
crashing down upon his skull. He expired with 
scarce a groan. 

Close behind the first intruder followed a second. 
He met with a similar fate and so with a third and 
a fourth. Each had entered as fast as the way be- 
came clear and the death-blows had been delivered 
swiftly and surely. The Indians now began to 
suspect that something untimely had befallen their 
fellows and before another essayed to enter the 
house they made a cautious survey through the 
crevice of the door. By the fitful light of the fire 
four motionless figures stretched upon the floor 
were discernible and their fate was easily surmised. 

The attackers now decided upon another line of 
tactics. Two of them clambered to the roof of the 
cabin and began a descent of the capacious chim- 
ney. The alert woman had heard the noises made 
by the climbers and anticipated their designs. Still 
maintaining her vigilant watch at the door, she 
bade her children cut open the feather bed and 
throw its contents upon the fire. The burning 
feathers flew up the chimney in a fountain of flame 
and acrid smoke. The two savages half way down 
strove to regain the roof but were unable to do so 


75 


DANIEL BOONE 


and at last fell into the fireplace, scorched and 
suffocated. They were easily despatched by the 
children and the wounded father. 

Hardly had the attack been repulsed at one end 
of the room than it was renewed at the other. A 
fifth savage made an effort to gain entrance by 
way of the door. He was not more than half way 
through when the well-wielded axe ended his career. 
This put an end to the assault. The Indians were 
more than satisfied and beat a retreat. When they 
reached their village they assured the tribesmen that 
the squaws fought better than the ‘‘ Long Knives ’’ 
themselves. 

Although the fort at Boonesborough was not com- 
pleted until some months after the point at which 
we have arrived in our story, it will be well to de- 
scribe it here. There was a close resemblance be- 
tween all these frontier stockades, and the picture of 
one serves as a general description of any other. 
The Boonesborough fort stood about two hundred^ 
feet from the river. It was a parallelogram, about \ 
three hundred feet in length and half as wide. The 
sides were formed of cabins set close together, the / 
spaces between being closed with double rows ofy^ 
logs, planted endwise in the ground and standing 
76 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


about ten feet in height. At each comer was a 
blockhouse, two stories in height, the upper section 
extending two feet beyond the lower, with the floor 
of the projection loop-holed so that attackers imme- 
diately below might be fired upon. The cabins and 
palisades were plentifully loop-holed along each of 
the sides. Stumps, brush and everything that might 
afford cover, was cleared from the immediate vicin- 
ity. In the middle of each of the long sides was a 
strong, heavy gate, with wooden hinges and bolts. 
In the centre of the enclosure stood a storehouse for 
provisions and ammunition, a few trees, and posts 
for stretching clothes-lines. In time of siege, cattle 
and horses were driven into the stockade. 

Such a fortress could not, of course, stand against 
artillery and in some instances, where the Indians 
were supported by British gunners and cannon, the 
defenders of stockades were obliged to surrender. 
But it was seldom, indeed, that any force of savages 
unaided succeeded in carrying a frontier fort by 
assault when there were a handful of unerring back- 
woods rifles to defend it. In fact, the redskins had, 
long before this date, learned the futility of direct 
attack and usually resorted to subterfuge, or at- 
tempted to starve out the garrison. But this was 


77 


DANIEL BOONE 


not so easily accomplished in the case of such re- 
sourceful and determined men as the pioneers of 
Kentucky. /yW'hen food began to fail, one would 
leave the fort in the dead of night and, stealthil]^ 
creeping through the cordon of besiegers, take to the 
woods in search of game. The return, heavily 
laden, was even a more dangerous and difficult feat 
than the departure, and many laid down their lives 
for the sake of their fellows in such enterprises. 
But though one fell to-day, another was ready to 
essay the task to-morrow, and in the end some 
would succeed. 

The Indians generally relied upon stratagem to 
overcome the defenders. A favorite subterfuge was 
pretended retreat. Simulating discouragement or 
alarm, they would act as though retiring from the 
country. The object was to draw the garrison into 
pursuit and entrap them in ambush. As we shall 
see, these tactics were sometimes highly successful 
with men who were ever ready to embrace any ex- 
cuse for escaping the irksome restraint of the fort. 

With the approach of summer, Indian outrages 
became increasingly frequent. No large bodies of 
savages were seen, nor was any concerted attack 
made upon a settlement. It was evident, however, 
78 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


that numbers of redskins were in the country, which 
was not strange, for at this time of the year hun- 
dreds of them had been in the habit of hunting in 
Kentucky. Settlers were picked off at the plough, 
or while traversing the forest. Women and chil- 
dren were killed and scalped or seized and carried 
into captivity. Cattle and horses were frequently 
found dead, with arrows in their sides, for the red- 
skins still used that weapon upon animals in order 
to save valuable ammunition for fighting. 

Another and more extensive exodus took place. 
All but three of the stations were abandoned, those 
maintained being Boonesborough, Harrodsburg, and 
McClellan’s, and the last-named was deserted early 
in the following year. There were hardly one hun- 
dred guns,” that is, fighting men, left in the entire 
territory. 

Fair Kentucky was soon to be in the throes of a 
life-and-death struggle for possession of the soil. 
As yet the settlers did not realize the fearful danger 
that beset them. Had they done so, all but the very 
stoutest hearts must have quailed before it. The 
Revolution was now in progress and, incited and 
armed by British agents, the Shawnees, Cherokees, 
and Mingos were preparing to exterminate the in- 


79 


DANIEL BOONE 


vaders of their old-time hunting-grounds. Vir- 
ginia could afford but scanty aid to her distant ter- 
ritory. All the men and munitions that the State 
could command were needed to support the Con- 
tinental Army. To the devoted band of backwoods- 
men, isolated from their fellows and dependent upon 
their own resources, two courses were open, — either 
to retreat, or to stand their ground and face the 
flood of savage onslaught. It is characteristic of 
such men as Boone and his companions that the 
former alternative was not even considered by them. 

Among the families at Boonesborough was that 
of Colonel Richard Callaway, an intimate friend of 
Boone. One day early in July, 1778, the two 
daughters of the former and Jemima Boone entered 
a canoe near the fort and cast it off from its moor- 
ings. This act was contrary to the injunctions of 
their parents, who realized that lurking Indians 
might be encountered even in the immediate neigh- 
borhood of the stockade. However, the girls were 
young and careless and as they drifted idly upon the 
placid stream that lovely summer evening, no 
thought of danger entered their minds. 

Thick woods and dense undergrowth came down 


80 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


to the water’s edge upon the opposite bank. Here 
a party of savages crouched, motionless and silent, 
peering hungrily through the leafy screen at their 
intended victims. Laughing and chatting, while 
they aimlessly paddled the little craft, the girls grad- 
ually approached the farther bank. At length they 
were within a few feet of it, when suddenly the 
foliage parted in several places and five hideous 
forms sprang into the shallow water, seized the 
horror-stricken young women, and plunged into the 
thicket with them. 

The screams of the girls as their captors bore 
them away were heard in the fort. Hardy, who was 
seated in the doorway of the Boones’ cabin, cleaning 
his rifle, sprang up and ran to the river bank. The 
empty canoe, drifting in the current, and a bonnet, 
floating on the stream, told the story. Hardy’s first 
thought was to plunge into the river and swim 
across, but he quickly realized that he could accom- 
plish no good by following the abductors alone, and 
so he turned to the fort for assistance. Both 
Boone and Callaway were some miles distant, sur- 
veying a piece of land. In two minutes Hardy was 
astride a horse and galloping in the direction they 

8i 


6 


DANIEL BOONE 


had taken. He was fortunate in coming upon them 
without loss pf time, but night had fallen before the 
party regained the stockade of Boonesborough. 

Of course every man in the settlement was eager 
to join in the pursuit, but Boone determined to take 
but seven picked men with him. .Even though the 
Indians should prove to be a large body, it was more 
important to come upon them by surprise than in 
force. The main point was to recover the girls 
before the savages should have time to kill them. 
The smaller the body of pursuers, then, the greater 
the likelihood of their success. Hardy Goodfellow 
begged, but without success, to be allowed to accom- 
pany the party. He was greatly disappointed but, 
although he did not suspect it, his eagerness for 
Indian fighting was soon to be satisfied. 

At the first streak of dawn the eight men crossed 
the river, the two fathers in the lead. At the outset 
they experienced a check, but this was no more than 
their knowledge of Indian tactics had led them to 
suspect. The redskins, on leaving the river bank, 
had separated and made their way at considerable 
distance from one another through the thickest cane- 
brake. The pursuers could not follow any one of 


82 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


these tracks without danger of being misled. It 
was noticed that they all pointed in one general 
direction and that gave a clue as to their destination 
and Boone concluded that they were bound for the 
Ohio River and the Indian villages beyond it. 

It was probable that the savages would drop scouts 
in the rear to ascertain whether they were being fol- 
lowed, and if they had reason to believe that they 
were not, that they would relax their speed and their 
vigilance. Taking these probabilities into consider- 
ation, Boone formed a plan of action with his usual 
decision. He abandoned the track and took his 
party by a rapid march over a circuit of thirty miles, 
coming round to a point where he hoped to again 
pick up the trail of the warriors. Sure enough, it 
was discovered in a buffalo path and the backwoods- 
men were delighted to find that the Indians had 
made a considerable turn in order to cross their 
trace, and so had lost much headway. It was evi- 
dent, too, from the signs that they had begun to 
travel carelessly and imagined themselves safe from 
pursuit. 

The men under Boone pushed on as rapidly as 
possible and with every mile saw that they were get- 
83 


DANIEL BOONE 


ting nearer to their quarry. Vigilance was of no 
less consequence than speed. They knew that at 
the first alarm the redskins would bury their toma- 
hawks in the skulls of the girls and scatter in the 
forest. Noiselessly, then, and tirelessly, the trackers 
followed the trail, every moment bringing them 
closer to the now slowly-moving savages. At 
length, towards the close of the third day, and after 
a journey of fifty miles, Boone decided that nightfall 
would bring them within striking distance of the 
Indians’ camp. 

The pace was now slackened and each man bent 
his efforts to a stealthy advance without sound. 
The moccasined feet, hardly less adept than those 
of the redskins, trod so lightly as scarcely to disturb 
a twig or leaf. And so, several feet separating each 
man from the next, they crept forward until at 
length they came in sight of the abductors. In a 
small glade surrounded by thick cane they were in 
the act of building a fire at which to cook their 
evening meal. 

The party had been instructed as to their action 
in this situation, which had been anticipated. Four 
rifles went up in careful aim, the others reserving 
84 


IN FAIR KENTUCKY 


their fire. The instant that the reports rang out, 
the whole body charged forward with a yell. The 
manoeuvre was a perfect success. Two Indians fell. 
The others dashed into the forest, leaving their 
rifles, and even their knives, tomahawks and moc- 
casins behind them. The girls were unharmed, and 
without delay the party turned about and retraced 
its steps to Boonesborough. 


VI. 

HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


The war-cloud gathers over Kentucky — Hardy goes 
A-HUNTING AND BAGS A FAT TURKEY — He PRACTICES THE 
DIFFICULT FEAT OF BARKING SQUIRRELS — He DETECTS A DUSKY 
FOE SPYING UPON HIM FROM BEHIND A TREE — AnD PLANS 
TO OUTWIT THE WILY SAVAGE — HaRDY FIRES AND SCATTERS 
THE HEAD-FEATHERS OF THE INDIAN — HaRDY IS NOW RE- 
DUCED TO HIS TOMAHAWK FOR DEFENCE — He MAKES A GOOD 
THROW AND BARELY MISSES THE MARK — POWERLESS, HE 
AWAITS DEATH AS THE SAVAGE ADVANCES — A FRIEND IN 
NEED IS A FRIEND INDEED — “ My SCALP, I RECKON, YOUNG 

FELLOW ! ” — Simon Kenton, the daring dandy of the 

BACKWOODS. 

Before the close of the summer the Kentuckians 
became fully alive to the fact that they were threat- 
ened with a great Indian war. Most of the settlers 
were too careless or lacking in foresight to take 
measures in advance for their safety, and the prep- 
arations for the protection of the settlements de- 
volved upon a few leading men among them. There 
were constant consultation, exchange of views, and 

formation of plans. The two principal objects de- 

86 


HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


sired were the inclusion of the new territory in the 
State of Virginia and the procurement of a supply 
of ammunition. By effecting the former, it was 
hoped to secure aid from the State in the impending 
struggle, and without the latter the backwoodsmen 
would soon be reduced to a state of helplessness, for 
they depended upon the rifle for their supplies of 
food, no less than for defence against the Indians. 
George Rogers Clark was sent to Virginia as the 
representative of the Kentucky settlers, and before 
the close of the year succeeded in having the desired 
legislation passed and, after a hazardous voyage 
down the Ohio, returned with a large quantity of 
powder. 

Daniel Boone was of course indispensable to the 
councils of the leaders, and his time was entirely 
occupied in the affairs of the community, which took 
him frequently from home. Under these circum- 
stances it fell to the lot of Hardy to look after the 
family and perform the ever-pressing duty of hunter. 
The search for game did not entail long journeys as 
in North Carolina, but he made frequent trips into 
the woods and met with such success as to excite the 
praise of his adoptive father. 

The settlers had not at this time contrived to plant 
87 


DANIEL BOONE 


anything like a sufficiency of corn, nor did they until 
several years afterwards. Before the country had 
been two years in occupation the live stock had be- 
come reduced to very small numbers, and beeves 
were not slaughtered for food but carefully kept 
for breeding purposes and as a reserve against 
emergency. The sole source of meat supply was 
the hunter’s rifle, and in the use of that Boone and 
other leaders were urging economy, for ammunition 
was running alarmingly low. 

It was a fine, mild morning in October when 
Hardy set out for a day’s hunt, by which he might 
with reasonable good luck secure enough meat to 
keep the family pot boiling for a week. He was not 
in search of big game, but intended to make his bag 
of birds, of which many edible kinds were to be 
found in the neighborhood. He filled his powder- 
horn and bullet-pouch, put a generous piece of corn 
bread into his wallet and, with tomahawk and knife 
in belt and rifle over shoulder, left the cabin, with 
a promise to return before nightfall. 

Hardy paddled himself across the river and, after 
hiding his canoe in a secluded spot, he made his way 
into the woods. It was not long before he heard 
the gobble of a turkey. Listening closely for a few 
88 


HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


minutes, and satisfying himself that the sounds 
came from a bird and not from an Indian, he com- 
menced stealthily to approach his intended victim. 
This was not to be easily accomplished, however. 
The turkey detected Hardy’s movements before he 
got a sight of the bird. The chase lasted for an 
hour or more. Now the quarry would take alarm 
and make off with long, awkward strides, and anon, 
lulled into quietness by the hunter’s caution, would 
again allow him to come almost within range, only 
to run off just as the rifle was coming into position. 
At length a good chance came to the patient tracker. 
In one of its sudden retreats the turkey incautiously 
started across an open space about sixty feet in 
breadth. Hardy was eighty yards away from his 
mark but determined not to lose this opportunity. 
He dropped on one knee and, taking careful aim, 
fired as the bird reached the middle of the glade. 
The turkey fluttered for a few paces and then fell 
dead. 

It proved to be a fine, fat bird, and would have 
justified Hardy in considering the day’s hunt as 
finished and returning to the many tasks of a less 
attractive nature that awaited him. But the weather 
and the surroundings were so enticing that he could 
89 


DANIEL BOONE 


not resist the temptation to remain out a little longer. 
He hid his turkey where he could find it on the re- 
turn, and determined to indulge himself for a while 
in the sport of ‘‘ barking ” squirrels. This was a 
favorite pastime with Hardy, because it involved a 
very high order of marksmanship, in which he was 
eager to excel. At the same time, it was the last 
use to which he should have put his rifle at this time, 
when, as he knew, powder and shot were precious 
and every load should be made to count. 

As the reader may imagine, a squirrel hit by a 
rifle ball would be torn to pieces, so that neither its 
flesh nor its fur could be of any service. In order 
to secure the animals intact, the backwoodsmen 
resorted to a skilful expedient which was called 
“ barking.’' The marksman aimed, not at the squir- 
rel, but at the bark of the tree immediately below 
its feet. If he hit the exact place at which he fired, 
the animal flew into the air and came down, killed 
by the concussion, but whole. To accomplish this 
feat required the greatest precision. If the course 
of the bullet was an inch too high, the squirrel was 
shattered; if it was as much too low, the ball sank 
into the wood of the tree without the desired effect. 

“ Barking ” squirrels was one of the favorite 


90 


HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


methods with the backwoodsmen of showing off 
their marksmanship. Boone could bring down his 
animal, without injuring a hair, every tiitie at fifty 
yards. When far advanced in years, he gave such 
an exhibition of his skill to Audubon that made the 
naturalist wonder exceedingly. It is hardly neces- 
sary to say that Hardy, although a very creditable 
pupil, had not attained to anything like the same 
expertness. Indeed, if he “ barked ” one squirrel 
in five attempts he was doing very well. To-day 
it appeared, however, that our young hunter was 
in unusually good form, for by careful approach 
and steady shooting he succeeded in getting three 
whole squirrels with ten shots. Fragments of a 
number of others had been uselessly scattered over 
the ground. 

Hardy was blessed with a healthy appetite, and 
had not yet trained his stomach to the one plenteous 
meal a day which was the custom with the back- 
woodsmen. It was now past midday, and feeling 
keenly hungry he decided to eat one of his squirrels 
and take a short rest before turning homeward. 
Whilst his fire was burning up, he skinned and 
dressed the little animal and soon had it broiling on 
the end of his hickory ramro d. Well-cooked squir- 


91 


DANIEL BOONE 


rel and corn bread, washed down with cool spring 
water, make a very enjoyable meal to a hungry 
hunter, especially when his taste has not been spoiled 
by condiments and dainties. 

Hardy sat with his back to a large linden, leisurely 
eating and thinking of nothing in particular, when 
presently he began to feel that eyes were upon him. 
We have all had a similar experience more than once 
in our lives. The knowledge — or belief, if you 
will — that he was being watched, coming upon him 
gradually in this manner, instead of suddenly with 
the apparition of the watcher, did not upset his self- 
control or cause him to betray any uneasiness. On 
the contrary, whilst continuing to pick the bones of 
the squirrel with apparent disregard for everything 
else, he furtively scanned the neighboring landscape. 
It was not long before he discerned an Indian peer- 
ing at him from behind a tree. Averting his face, 
but not sufficiently to prevent a watch of the spot 
out of the corner of his eye. Hardy fell to consider- 
ing the situation. 

No question as to the intentions of the skulking 
savage entered into his mind for, although Hardy 
had not yet encountered any Indians, he had fully 
imbibed the border doctrine, begotten of bitter ex- 


92 


HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


perience, that every redskin was a natural enemy. 
In his present position, the Indian behind the tree 
was considerably beyond range, and Hardy’s watch- 
ful concern was* chiefly directed to seeing that he 
did not approach nearer unobserved. The boy con- 
cluded that he was alone, because had there been 
others with him they would surely have attacked ere 
this. 

It would not do to retreat. In the first place, such 
a movement would give the other a decided advan- 
tage, and in the second place — well. Hardy didn’t 
think of it. Clearly there was to be a duel between 
them. The point was, how should Hardy set about 
playing his part in it. Suddenly he struck upon a 
plan based on the recollection that Boone had once 
said that an Indian will seldom fire at beyond fifty 
yards’ range, because he is not confident of his 
marksmanship and also because he uses a light 
charge. 

These reflections only occupied a few minutes and, 
when he had decided upon his plan of action. Hardy 
rose with a well-feigned air of indifference as to 
the direction he should take. He was gratified to 
find that, although his heart beat somewhat faster 
than usual, he had no feeling of fear, and in fact 


93 


DANIEL BOONE 


rather enjoyed the situation. After looking around 
carelessly, he set out walking slowly and taking a 
line that would carry him past the Indian’s tree but 
at a distance of about one hundred yards. Hardy 
was confident of his own aim at that range, and 
unhesitatingly relied upon Boone’s statement that 
the Indian would not fire at that distance. 

Out of the corner of his eye. Hardy kept a watch 
on the savage’s hiding place as he strolled leisurely 
along. When he had passed the point he wheeled 
suddenly about, and at the same time brought his 
rifle to his shoulder. As he had anticipated, the 
Indian, believing himself undiscovered, had come 
from cover and was preparing to steal upon Hardy 
from behind. The latter’s sudden turn surprised 
the redskin and he stood stock-still in his tracks. 
The next instant Hardy’s rifle cracked and the In- 
dian’s head-feathers flew. 

Hardy had missed his mark by a scalp’s breadth. 
Almost his sole chance of safety lay in taking to 
his heels. He thought of it and started to run but 
something restrained him and, instead, he stepped 
behind a tree and waited. Later in life Hardy 
learned that even such dare-devils as Simon Kenton 
and Lewis Wetzel recognized discretion as the bet- 


94 


HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


ter part of valor under similar circumstances, and 
were not ashamed to resort to flight in the face of 
great odds. 

The advantage was now enormously in favor of 
the Indian, and he fully realized it. He ran for- 
ward instantly and circling round Hardy’s tree kept 
him so busily dancing about in order to remain under 
cover that it was impossible to reload his gun. This 
manoeuvre had brought the savage within fifty feet 
of his adversary, and he would in all probability 
have presently fired. Instead of awaiting such 
action and trusting to the possible miss which would 
have placed them on even terms again. Hardy — 
who, it must be confessed, had become somewhat 
excited — made a foolish move. He took his toma- 
hawk from his belt and, seizing a favorable moment, 
threw it with all the force he could command at the 
Indian. It was well aimed but the nimble redskin 
dodged and the missile whizzed over his left 
shoulder. 

Hardy noted his failure with a sinking of the 
heart. His first impulse was to run but he checked 
at thought of that bullet in his back. He would 
rather meet death face to face than have it overtake 
him in flight. Then there was a slim chance of 


95 


DANIEL BOONE 


fight left, he remembered, as he drew his hunting- 
knife from its sheath. The Indian now approached 
boldly with his gun presented, intending to make a 
sure shot at the closest range. Regardless of the 
fact that the weapon was directed full at him. Hardy 
stood, with head exposed, staring spell-bound at 
the hideous features of the exultant redskin. 

He never could tell afterwards what thoughts 
passed through his mind in those few seconds, that 
seemed an eternity. He remembered only that he 
seemed to have fallen into a trance from which he 
was awakened by the whip-like report of a rifle 
behind him, and at the moment it broke upon his 
ear the Indian fell in a convulsive heap at his feet. 

“ My scalp, I reckon, young fellow. Sorry you 
didn’t get him. Better luck next time.” 

The words were spoken in a cheery, musical voice, 
and before he had finished the utterance the 
speaker’s knife had secured the prize to which he 
referred. 

Hardy looked up to the handsome beardless face 
of a young man of extremely attractive presence. 
The countenance was made up of contradictory feat- 
ures. The sternness suggested by the square jaw 
and large nose was belied by the smiling lips and the 
96 



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HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


merry glint in the eyes. The careful dress, with its 
adornment of porcupine quills, the embroidered moc- 
casins, the raccoons’ tails pendent from the back of 
the cap, the long, curled locks that fell below the 
shoulders, — all these betokened the backwoods 
dandy; but the great stature, the erect form, the 
muscular limbs and the weather-beaten face pro- 
claimed the practiced hunter and fighter. 

‘‘ Simon Kenton, at your service,” said the new- 
comer, extending his hand with a smile that in- 
stantly won Hardy as it did everyone who came in 
contact with the young frontiersman. 

“ My name is Hardy Goodfellow,” replied our 
friend, who had not yet quite recovered his com- 
posure. I live at Boonesborough.” 

‘‘Well, if you’ve nothing to keep you, Hardy, 
we’ll make tracks for the fort. No telling how 
many more Indians there may be about, and I’d 
rather eat than fight just now.” 

He threw his rifle over his shoulder and led the 
way to the beaten path with easy swinging strides, 
whistling as he went. Hardy presently ranged up 
alongside of him and immediately proceeded to 
unburden his mind. 


7 


97 


DANIEL BOONE 


“ You saved my life,” he said, I hope I may do 
as much for you some day.” 

Well, if I’m ever caught in the same kind of a 
fix,” said Kenton, with a laugh, ‘‘ I hope you may be 
somewhere around. But it’s nothing to make a 
palaver about. In the backwoods it’s every nian 
for himself and every man for his neighbor. If 
we didn’t stick together and help one another the 
redskins would soon wipe us out. 

Say, that was a right pretty throw of yours 
with the tomahawk,” continued Kenton. Who 
taught you ? ” 

“ Daniel Boone,” replied Hardy, proudly. He 
then went on to explain his relationship to the great 
hunter. With boyish enthusiasm he told Kenton 
how Boone had taken him, a forlorn orphan, into 
his family and had treated him as a son. How the 
great hunter had tutored him in woodcraft, in the 
use of the rifle and the tomahawk and in the rude 
arts of the backwoods. When he had concluded 
his companion extended his hand, saying: 

'' Shake again. Hardy ! We shall see a good deal 
of each other, if I’m not mistaken. I’ve been at 
Hinkston’s, but when they all cleared out for fear 
98 


HARDY’S FIRST INDIAN 


of the Indians I made up my mind to come over 
here, because I know that there won’t be any backing 
down with Boone. He’s here to stay and so am 1.” 

Their mutual admiration of Boone brought these 
two close together in a very short while. Kenton 
had only had one brief meeting with Hardy’s adop- 
tive father but that had made a deep impression on 
him, and he listened with avidity to his young com- 
panion’s enthusiastic accounts of the man who had 
fostered him in his loneliness and had cared for him 
since. 

They picked up Hardy’s turkey on their way and 
Kenton helped to eat it at the Boone cabin a few 
hours later. The party was completed by the arrival 
of the head of the family from Harrodsburg in time 
for supper. Boone warmly welcomed Kenton to the 
settlement, for that young man had already made a 
name for himself as a good fellow, a fearless fighter, 
and an expert hunter. Boone strongly suspected 
that the time was fast approaching when such men 
would be invaluable to the community. 

As to Hardy, fromf the first he was strongly drawn 
to this handsome, cheery son of the wilderness and 
the more he saw of him the better he liked him. In 


99 


DANIEL BOONE 


fact, their dramatic encounter in the forest proved 
to be the beginning of a friendship that lasted 
through life. Many years afterwards, when an- 
other generation dwelt peacefully in Kentucky, 
Colonel Good fellow was a frequent guest at the 
humble home of General Kenton in Urbana, Ohio. 







VII. 

THE CAPTURE OF BOONE 


The Indians burst upon the frontiers and overrun Ken- 
tucky — Boonesborough is besieged once and again — 
Boone spies on the Indian camp, is detected and 
WOUNDED — Kenton runs to the rescue in the nick of 
TIME — Boone goes salt-making with a band of settlers — 
He is tracked by Indians and caught in an ambush — 
He makes a great race for life and liberty but is 
CAPTURED — Boone wisely decides to surrender his men 
WHO ARE SURPRISED AND POWERLESS — “ It WAS A SORRY 
DAY FOR THE INDIANS WHEN THEY CAPTURED ME AND MY 
SALT-MAKERS.” 

With the opening of spring the Indians, who had 
spent the preceding winter in preparation, burst 
upon the frontiers. Had they made a concentrated 
attack, with the aid of the British, upon the Ken- 
tucky settlements at this time, there can be little 
doubt but that they would have succeeded in clearing 
the country of the “ b uckskins,' ' as they sometimes 
called the pioneers. Fortunately, they scattered 
their forces and directed their first attack mainly 
against the borders of Virginia and Pennsylvania. 


lOI 


DANIEL BOONE 


Sufficient numbers, however, assailed the four sta- 
tions of Kentucky to tax the courage and resources 
of the defenders and to keep them in a constant state 
of disquietude. Men, women and children were 
unremittingly alert, for the forest swarmed with 
skulking savages. Frequent attacks in force were 
made upon the stockades, which were from time to 
time subjected to the characteristically brief sieges 
of the Indian. The ground was tilled and crops 
were tended under guard. Scouts scoured the sur- 
rounding country, and saved the settlers from many 
a surprise. 

During March an attack was projected against 
Harrodsburg. About four miles from that place 
the Indians came unawares upon a small party of 
whites, who were engaged in making a new settle- 
ment. One of these was killed and another taken 
prisoner, whilst a lad named James Ray, whom we 
shall have further occasion to mention, contrived 
to make his escape and warn the settlers at the 
station. This intimation of approaching enemies, 
although it gave scanty time for preparation, enabled 
the defenders to gather their entire number within 
the fort and to beat off the Indians without any 
loss to themselves. 


102 


'pilE CAPTURE OF BOONE 

At about ihe same time a movement was made 
against Boonesborough, but there was small chance 
of that stronghold being taken by surprise. Aside 
from the ever-wakeful Boone, the station now had 
the advantage of the services of such splendid 
rangers as Kenton, the McAfee brothers, and other 
expert woodsmen who had recently come in. The 
approach of the foe was announced in good time, 
and when the Indians arrived within sight of the 
stockade every rifleman was at his post awaiting 
them. 

On one side, Boonesborough was protected by the 
river, which the bravest warriors dared not cross 
in the face of the backwoods marksmen. On the 
other sides, open ground stretched for a sufficient 
distance to prevent near approach under cover. The 
Indian of the forest regions was accustomed to the 
tactics of the skirmisher and guerilla. He would 
seldom fight in the open, but would take cover be- 
hind trees, stumps, bushes, or in long grass. The 
facility with which he could hide his body and the 
stealthiness of his movements sometimes proved an 
efficient ofYset to the superior gunplay of his adver- 
sary. 

On this occasion the savages besieged Boonesbor- 


103 


DANIEL BOONE 1 


ough for several days, during which attack and 
the defence took the form of a series of duels. On 
each side vigilant eyes marked individuals on the 
other and patiently watched for an opportunity to 
.shoot with fair chance of success. In such contests 
the backwoodsmen were sure to inflict the greater 
injury, provided they remained behind their stock- 
ades ; but it was seldom possible to ascertain the loss 
of the Indians, because, unless hotly pressed in 
flight, it was their custom to carry off their dead and 
wounded. 

The siege of a fort was usually raised after a few 
days. The redskin warriors lacked the patient de- 
termination necessary to the success of such an 
undertaking and, moreover, as they depended upon 
the country for their food supply, the attacking body 
was frequently weakened by the detachment of 
hunting parties. In the present instance, the Indians 
soon retired, having killed one of the settlers and 
wounded four others. 

It seldom happened that the Indian attacks were 
characterized by determination or concerted action. 
Large bodies were usually composed of detachments 
from several tribes and were led by a number of 
chiefs who acknowledged no superior. The will of 


104 


THE CAPTURE OF BOONE 


the majority as expressed in council theoretically 
controlled the action of all, but as a matter of fact 
a dissatisfied member often acted contrary to the 
decision of the allied chiefs in action. 

Furthermore, tribal discipline was very low at 
this time. Even such powerful chiefs as Cornstalk 
and Blackfish had difficulty in controlling the young 
braves and less renowned leaders had hardly any 
influence over their followers. Hence a band of 
Indians engaged in warfare was apt to break up in 
the most sudden and unexpected manner. 

A few months later a more serious assault was 
made upon Boonesborough. Had they but known 
it, the Indians could hardly have chosen a less pro- 
pitious date than the fourth of July for such a ven- 
ture, but it was on that day that a band of two hun- 
dred warriors made its appearance before the fort. 
They seem to have been particularly anxious to re- 
duce the place, which they doubtless knew was com- 
manded by the great chief, Daniel Boone. Detach- 
ments had been sent to make feints against the other 
stations, in order to prevent their extending relief 
to Boonesborough. 

At the outset, the whites came near to suffering 
what would have been an irreparable loss not only 


DANIEL BOONE 


to them but to the settlers in general. On the morn- 
ing after the arrival of the besiegers, Boone, being 
anxious to learn something of their numbers and 
disposition, left the stockade just before daybreak 
and made a reconnoissance of the Indian camp. 
The day dawned to find him still several hundred 
yards from the fort. He was picking his way 
cautiously, taking advantage of all the cover avail- 
able, when an Indian discovered him. The redskin 
fired and hit Boone upon the ankle. 

Short of a mortal wound, nothing could have 
been more effective than this ill-aimed bullet. Boone 
fell to the earth heavily, and as he did so his trusty 
rifle escaped from his grasp and flew to some dis- 
tance. He was unable to rise and utterly helpless. 
The Indian, seeing his plight, advanced rapidly with 
uplifted tomahawk to despatch him, and Boone 
calmly awaited what he believed to be his end. 

But the watchful eye of Kenton had noted the 
incident and Boone had hardly fallen when the scout 
was outside the stockade and speeding towards the 
spot with the swiftness of the deer. As soon as 
the Indian came into the open, Kenton stopped, took 
aim, and at the moment that the redskin reached the 
side of his intended victim sent a bullet through his 
io6 


THE CAPTURE OF BOONE 


brain. Kenton was now little more than one hun- 
dred yards from Boone, but by this time a number 
of warriors had appeared at the edge of the clearing. 
There was not a second to be lost and, although he 
appeared to be rushing into the jaws of death, Ken- 
ton flung aside his gun and flew to the spot where 
Boone lay anxiously awaiting the issue. 

At the same instant several Indians bounded for- 
ward, yelling and brandishing their weapons. They 
had advanced but a few yards when a dozen rifles 
in the stockade spoke and four of the redskins fell. 
The others hastily regained cover and turned their 
weapons upon the gallant ranger who was in the 
act of lifting Boone onto his serviceable leg. Half 
carried by his rescuer, Boone hopped slowly to the 
gate of the fort, while a shower of bullets played 
unceasingly around. The half light favored the 
wounded man and his companion, who gained the 
shelter of the stockade without being touched. 

Boone was a reticent man, estimating his own 
deeds lightly and little given to bestowing praise 
on others. But the splendid courage, strength and 
skill displayed by Kenton in this dashing exploit ex- 
cited unwonted emotion in the great pioneer and he 
expressed his admiration and gratitude in the warm- 
107 


DANIEL BOONE 


est terms. He recognized in the young, debonair 
scout a man after his own heart and one of his own 
kind. Ever after this episode Boone and Kenton 
were the fastest friends. 

During the ensuing months, whilst his wound 
was slowly healing, Boone took up his quarters in 
the upper story of one of the blockhouses, where 
he could command the scene and direct the defence 
in case of another attack. But the experience of the 
Indians on this occasion, which included the loss of 
seven of their number, appears to have cooled their 
ambition to take Boonesborough, and that place 
enjoyed a respite during the remainder of the year, 
although attacks were made at intervals upon other 
stations. 

Salt was always one of the prime needs of the 
settlers, as it had been when they dwelt farther back 
in the borderland. To secure it now from the coast 
towns was a matter of much greater difficulty than 
it had been then. Resort was had to the simpler 
method of manufacturing the coveted commodity 
from the waters of the salt licksjn which the terri- 
tory of Kentucky abounded. At first this was ac- 
complished in a manner far from satisfactory, owing 
to imperfect knowledge of the process and lack of 
io8 


THE CAPTURE OF BOONE 


proper utensils. But just about this time the author- 
ities in Virginia sent out a number of kettles and two 
experienced salt-makers. 

In view of the prospect of further hostilities, and 
perhaps protracted sieges, it was determined to lay 
in a large stock of salt. The men of the station were 
divided into two parties, which were to go out in 
turns and manufacture the material. As there was 
less danger of attack by Indians in the dead of win- 
ter than later on, Boone decided to take command 
of the first party, so that he might be at the fort 
with the opening of spring. 

On the first day of the year 1778, Captain Boone 
with thirty men and the necessary utensils left 
Boonesborough and set out for the Lower Blue 
Licks, fifty or more miles to the north. Here they 
established a camp and set to work. From time to 
time a small party was sent to the fort with the 
pack-horses laden with salt. On their return they 
brought back supplies of parched corn and, perhaps, 
a few of the simple comforts that the hardy back- 
woodsmen looked upon almost in the light of super- 
fluous luxuries. Thus the work progressed satis- 
factorily and the six weeks' spell, at the end of which 


DANIEL BOONE 


time the party was to be relieved, approached its 
termination. 

Of course, a considerable amount of meat was 
constantly needed to satisfy the appetites of thirty 
vigorous men. Boone, as the most expert hunter 
among them, undertook the duty of keeping the 
general larder supplied. The task was a thoroughly 
congenial one to him, which we cannot imagine salt- 
making to have been. It was his habit to go out 
some miles from camp every morning, returning at 
the close of the day with as much game as he could 
carry and often leaving a quantity to be sent after 
with a pack-horse. 

One afternoon in the early part of February 
Boone was making his way towards the lick, after a 
successful hunt, when he suddenly found himself 
surrounded by a hundred Indians. Not having seen 
a redskin for months, and knowing the unlikelihood 
of their presence in numbers at that time of the 
year, Boone was perhaps not as keenly on the alert as 
usual. But, in any case, he could hardly have 
escaped his present predicament. He had not 
crossed the trail of the Indians nor encountered any 
signs of them. They had seen him earlier in the 
no 


THE CAPTURE OF BOONE 


day and had secreted themselves about his return 
path. 

As soon as Boone was fairly within the circle of 
the ambuscade, the savages suddenly arose on every 
side and made at him. He took in the situation at 
a glance and, dropping the carcass with which he 
was encumbered, started to run with all the speed 
he could command. A few years before, Boone had 
been a match for the swiftest runners among the 
redskins, but he had now reached middle age, when 
the limbs of the best lose something of their supple 
agility. Moreover, he had spent the day in toilsome 
exertion, without rest or food, whereas his pursuers 
were comparatively fresh. Still he held his own 
for awhile and put the Indians to their utmost 
endeavor to overtake him. At length, however, see- 
ing that further effort was useless, Boone stopped 
and surrendered, with a complimentary remark to 
the foremost braves to put them in a good humor. 

It was at once evident to Boone that the band 
which had captured him was upon the war-path, and 
their destination could be none other than Boones- 
borough. They knew of the presence of the party 
at the lick and had, in fact, tracked the hunter from 
that place in the morning. As they journeyed 


III 


DANIEL BOONE 


thither, Boone’s mind was busy with a consideration 
of the conditions and the best course to be followed 
under the circumstances. His judgment was re- 
markably sure and his decisions unusually quick. 
Before they had arrived at the camp, he told the 
Indians that, if they would assure his men of kind 
treatment, he would order them to surrender with- 
out resistance. The proposition appealed to the 
savages and they readily gave the required promise. 

When the scene of the salt-making was reached 
the Indians secured to themselves all the advantage 
possible by surrounding the unconscious workmen, 
who were in an exposed spot, before discovering 
themselves. When the Indians made their presence 
known the whites were taken utterly by surprise, 
but they quickly seized their rifles and no doubt 
would have made a stout, though hopeless, resistance 
had not Boone signed to them to restrain their fire. 
He then approached with an escort of his captors 
and informed his men that he had agreed to their 
surrender. The declaration elicited some murmurs, 
but so great was the confidence in Boone’s resource- 
fulness and the wisdom of his conclusions, that 
the men laid down their arms without further ado 
and agreed to accompany the Indians, 


112 


THE CAPTURE OF BOONE 


This action of Boone’s excited the censure of some 
of his fellow-officers and the disapprobation of many 
of the settlers. These feelings continued to be 
evinced after the outcome had shown the wisdom 
of his course, and prompted Boone, some time later, 
to secure a court-martial of himself. The evidence 
produced before this body and the frank explanation 
made by Boone induced his honorable acquittal, and 
not only that, but his promotion to the rank of 
major. 

Theconsiderations that moved Boone (who was the 
last man to avoid a fight when it could serve a good 
purpose) to surrender his command, were as follows : 
The settlement at Boonesborough, weakened by the 
absence of half the garrison, was in no state to make 
a successful defence against a large number of the 
enemy, should they take it by surprise. That they 
would do so, was more than probable, for the set- 
tlers were accustomed from long experience to con- 
sider themselves safe from attack in the winter 
months, when the Indians almost invariably rested 
and took refuge from the weather in their villages. 
Familiar as he was with the character and habits of 
the Indians, Boone calculated with confidence upon 
their abandoning their expedition and returning to 
113 


8 


DANIEL BOONE 


their country in triumph with their prisoners. It 
was ever the tendency of these savages to repair to 
their towns after a great victory, to indulge in a 
celebration and in their customary vauntings and 
boasting. 

Boone thus deliberately sacrificed himself and his 
men for the sake of saving the settlement with its 
women and children. That they would soon learn 
what had happened and be put upon their guard he 
felt sure, for three of the party of salt-makers were 
absent at the fort and would soon return. The 
event proved that all his calculations were justified, 
and the incident ultimately tended to the welfare 
of the community. 

The shrewdest among Boone’s men began to 
divine their leader’s purpose when the Indians 
turned their backs on Boonesborough and with all 
possible speed took the direction of the Ohio. Up 
to this time the Kentucky settlers had no definite 
knowledge of the location of the Indians’ towns. 
It would have been well for the savages had this 
ignorance continued. In after life, Boone said: 

It was a sorry day for the Indians when they cap- 
tured me and my salt-makers and showed us the way 
to their villages and the lay of their land.” 


THE CAPTURE OF BOONE 


The prisoners were not subjected to any cruelty 
by the Indians, who were highly elated by their cap- 
ture and especially by having the renowned captain, 
Daniel Boone, in their power. They seem to have 
given the whites their fair share of food and to have 
allowed them a sufficiency of covering when they 
were camped at night. The captives were at a loss 
whether to accept this consideration as an evidence 
of friendly feeling, or a measure designed to keep 
them in good condition to stand extreme torture 
when they should reach their destination. Most of 
them knew the fickle and childlike temper of the 
Indian and the uncertainty of any deductions that 
may be drawn from his behavior. 

Here we must leave Boone for a while, trudging 
through the snow-swept wilderness with philosophi- 
cal readiness to accept with equanimity whatever fate 
might have in store for him, but with a determina- 
tion to turn circumstances to the best account when- 
ever opportunity should offer. 


VIII. 

THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


Clark comes to Kentucky “ to lend a helping hand ” — He 

IMMEDIATELY TAKES A LEADING PART IN THE AFFAIRS OF THE 
SETTLERS — He GOES TO VIRGINIA FOR MUCH-NEEDED AM- 
MUNITION — The race down the river with Indians in 
PURSUIT — The powder and shot are safely delivered — 
Clark makes a daring raid on the British posts in 
Canada — The party surprises the Kaskaskians in the 
midst of a revel — The fort and town are taken with- 
out THE loss of a life — ThE INHABITANTS TAKE THE OATH 
OF ALLEGIANCE — CaHOKIA AND ViNCENNES ARE QUICKLY 
CAPTURED — But the situation of the victors IS PRE- 
CARIOUS. 

In order to follow the story of the Kentucky set- 
tlers with intelligent understanding, it will be neces- 
sary to take a brief survey of the achievements of 
that very remarkable man, George Rogers Clark. 
Not only were Clark’s direct services to the new 
settlement powerfully influential in its development, 
but his campaigns in British territory were also of 
the utmost consequence to the Kentuckians, as we 
shall see. 


ii6 


THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


George Rogers Clark was born in Albemarle 
County, Virginia, November 19, 1752. Roosevelt, 
in '' The Winning of the West,” thus tersely de- 
scribes him as he was at the beginning of his career : 
‘‘ He was of good family, and had been fairly well 
educated, as education went in colonial days; but 
from his childhood he had been passionately fond 
of the wild roving life of the woods. He was a 
great hunter ; and, like so many other young 
colonial gentlemen of good birth and bringing up, 
and adventurous temper, he followed the hazardous 
profession of a backwoods surveyor. With chain 
and compass, as well as axe and rifle, he penetrated 
the far places of the wilderness, the lonely, danger- 
ous regions where every weak man inevitably suc- 
cumbed to the manifold perils encountered, but 
where the strong and far-seeing were able to lay the 
foundations of fame and fortune. He possessed 
high daring, unflinching courage, passions which he 
could not control, and a frame fitted to stand any 
strain of fatigue or hardship. He was a square- 
built thick-set man, with high broad forehead, sandy 
hair, and unquailing blue eyes that looked out from 
under heavy, shaggy brows.” 

Clark made a short visit to Harrodsburg in 1775 


DANIEL BOONE 


and returned in the following year. Long after- 
wards, General Ray, who in 1776 was a boy of six- 
teen living at the station established by Colonel Har- 
rod, told the following story of Major Clark’s second 
arrival in Kentucky : 

“ I had come down to where I now live (about 
four miles north of Harrodsburg) to turn some 
horses in the range. I had killed a small blue-wing 
duck that was feeding in my spring, and had roasted 
it nicely on the brow of the hill, about twenty 
steps east of my house. After having taken it off 
to cool, I was much surprised on being suddenly 
accosted by a fine soldierly-looking man, who ex- 
claimed, ‘ How do you do, my little fellow ? What 
is your name? Ain’t you afraid of being in the 
woods by yourself? ’ 

‘‘ On satisfying his inquiries, I invited the travel- 
ler to partake of my duck, which he did, without 
leaving me a bone to pick, his appetite was so keen, 
though he should have been welcome to all the game 
I could have killed, when I afterwards became 
acquainted with his noble and gallant soul.” 

Having satisfied his hunger, the stranger asked 
a number of questions about the settlers, the Indians, 
and the general conditions in the locality. These 
1 18 


THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


the boy answered as well as he could and then ven- 
tured to ask the name of his guest 

“ My name is Clark/’ he answered, ‘‘ and I have 
come out to see what you brave fellows are doing 
in Kentucky and to lend you a helping hand if neces- 
sary.” 

Clark immediately took a leading part in the 
affairs of the struggling community. His superior 
talents were so unmistakable and his personality 
so impressive that he readily inspired the confidence 
of the Kentucky settlers. At a general meeting, 
held at Harrodsburg in June, 1775, he had been 
appointed with another to represent the young com- 
munity in negotiations with the Assembly of Vir- 
ginia. The delegates proceeded at once to Wil- 
liamsburg, where it soon became apparent that their 
errand could not be accomplished without great diffi- 
culty. At the first serious check Clark’s companion 
returned to Kentucky, but Clark determined to per- 
severe, and by the exercise of diplomacy and per- 
suasion ultimately succeeded in his purpose. 

In August the Council, with the approval of Gov- 
ernor Patrick Henry, caused a large quantity of gun- 
powder to be shipped to Pittsburg and there to be 
delivered to Major Clark for the use of the Ken- 


DANIEL BOONE 


tucky settlers. At the fall session of the Legisla- 
ture, the determined soldier, who had now been 
rejoined by his fellow-delegate, Gabriel Jones, suc- 
cessfully urged the political organization of the new 
settlement and the bill was passed that created it a 
county of the State of Virginia. This was an im- 
portant step, as it secured for the crude common- 
wealth in the wilderness a judicial and military 
establishment. 

Clark now proceeded to Pittsburg, where the 
precious powder awaited him and where he entered 
upon an extremely perilous phase of his mission. 
The country about Pittsburg swarmed with Indians, 
who were not only hostile to white men in general 
but, like all their race at the time, ready to go to any 
extremes in the effort to secure ammunition. Clark 
decided that speed and secrecy would serve his pur- 
pose more effectively than a strong force which, 
encumbered and travelling slowly, could be con- 
stantly harassed and would be probably cut up be- 
fore reaching its destination. Accordingly, he 
quietly embarked with seven sturdy boatmen and 
commenced a rapid journey down the Ohio. 

The Indians almost immediately got wind of the 
expedition and Clark’s vessel had but an indifferent 


120 


THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


start when they were in pursuit of it by land and 
water. The powder escort soon became aware of 
the pursuit and bent its efforts to out-distancing the 
redskins, it being no part of the leader’s plan to offer 
fight, except in the last extremity. Indeed, although 
they were frequently fired upon from the shores 
and from the following canoes, Clark forbade his 
men to retaliate but required them to devote all their 
care and energies to the preservation of the cargo. 

This grim race was maintained until it became 
evident to Clark that his men could not much longer 
continue their arduous labor at the oars. The In- 
dians, on the other hand, being subjected to much 
less strain, might have kept up the pursuit indefin- 
itely. Realizing that the sole chance of success lay 
in bringing the journey to a speedy end, Clark called 
on his rowers for a supreme final effort with a view 
to getting beyond sight of the Indians for a short 
space of time. The men responded heartily. The 
boat was then at the mouth of Limestone Creek, 
near the present town of Maysville. It was headed 
into the small stream and shot up it with such swift- 
ness that the pursuers were left far behind. 

At a favorable point the boat was run into the 
bank, the powder hastily brought ashore, and the 


I2I 


DANIEL BOONE 


craft turned loose to drift down the branch. The 
barrels were now quickly conveyed to a hiding place 
in the densest brush, the carriers carefully covering 
their tracks. This accomplished, the entire party 
struck across country for Harrodsburg. They 
arrived without mishap and Clark immediately re- 
turned with a sufficient guard for the powder, which 
was found safe and uninjured where it had been 
secreted. Thus, towards the close of 1776 the Ken- 
tucky settlers were assured of the means of defend- 
ing their homes in the impending struggle. 

It must be remembered that the war of the Revo- 
lution was by this time in full swing, and, whereas 
Boone and his associates had entered Kentucky as 
British subjects, they were now rebels. It is not 
strange, therefore, that the authorities of the Crown 
dominions in the north treated them with hostility, 
nor that the Indian tribes friendly to the British 
were employed in the attacks upon the settlers. The 
practice of the times fully sanctioned the employ- 
ment of savages and the colonists were not above 
accepting such aid when it was available. Clark, 
in fact, employed Indians in the defence of Vin- 
cennes, although he declined their aid in attacking 
the town. 


122 


THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


Several writers, in ignorance of the facts, or re- 
gardless of them, insist on attributing the worst 
barbarities to the higher officials in Canada, and the 
frontiersmen of the time were prone to credit them 
with the utmost cruelty. They believed, and quite 
recent writers have stated, that the Indians were 
urged by these officials to massacre the whites in 
Kentucky unsparingly, and that they offered re- 
wards for scalps with the distinct understanding 
that they were preferable to prisoners. 

Now the most cursory examination of the records 
proves these statements to be utterly false and shows 
that Governor Hamilton and other officials rescued 
prisoners from the Indians and ransomed them 
whenever possible. Thus, Boone’s fellow captives 
in the year 1778 were secured from the Shawnees 
and kindly treated. Every effort was made to in- 
duce them to give up Boone, and when these failed, 
money and gifts were pressed upon him by the 
officers at Detroit. 

It is true that certain agents of the British, such 
as Caldwell and McKee, were guilty of the worst 
kind of atrocities in their dealings with the Ameri- 
can settlers ; but these were men of the Simon Girty 
stamp, natural blackguards, for whose actions their 


123 


DANIEL BOONE 


superiors cannot be justly held accountable. It 
would be difficult to find in human history records 
of more cruel and bloody deeds than some of those 
attributable to men amongst the Kentucky pioneers 
themselves, but the historian who should blame the 
settlers as a body, or their leaders, for the villanies 
of such brutes as Greathouse, or Lewis Wetzel, 
could not more effectually prove his unreliability. 

It was well understood that the Governor of 
Canada was doing his utmost to encourage and aid 
the Indians in the war which all felt to be imminent, 
but it remained for Clark to devise the daring 
scheme of crippling the enemy by adopting the 
policy of Hannibal in his conflict with the Cartha- 
ginians, when he “ carried the war into Africa.’’ 
Clark conceived that the most effective way of de- 
fending Kentucky lay in attacking the posts in the 
British territory on the north. He hoped thus to 
keep the garrisons in Canada too busy in their own 
defence to consider aggressive action, and also to 
curtail the supplies of ammunition that they would 
be willing to give to the Indians. The former 
object was of vital importance, for had they enjoyed 
freedom of movement during this momentous 
period, a few small bodies of English with cannon 
124 


THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


might have enabled the Indians to clear Kentucky 
of the American colonists. 

Clark’s plan met with the approval of the authori- 
ties in Virginia and he was permitted to raise a body 
of one hundred and fifty men, and was furnished 
with tents, supplies and ammunition. It was a 
very small force for such an ambitious enterprise, 
but the leader was a man of dauntless courage and 
resource and the men were picked fighters who had 
the utmost confidence in their captain. The whole- 
souled devotedness that Clark inspired in his follow- 
ers, and the willing manner in which they cooper- 
ated in his most hazardous plans, mark him as one 
of the truly great leaders that this nation has pro- 
duced. Had his exploits been performed in the 
full limelight of the revolutionary stage, instead of 
in the shadow of the wings, he must have attained 
to a greatly wider fame than actually fell to his lot. 

In May, 1778, Clark and his force, which had 
been somewhat increased by the addition of a score 
or sc of Kentucky volunteers, descended the Ohio 
in flat-bottom boats as far as the mouth of the 
Tennessee, where preparations were made for the 
advance upon the Illinois posts. At this juncture 
the leader was extremely fortunate to fall in with 


125 


DANIEL BOONE 


some American hunters who had recently been in the 
French settlements. From these friends he ac- 
quired useful information, and secured their services 
as guides. 

At length a force of fewer than two hundred 
men started upon the march across the wilderness 
to Kaskaskia. This place was fortified and gar- 
risoned by a strong body of militia, so that the only 
prospect of capturing it lay in effecting a surprise. 
The party, therefore, proceeded with the utmost 
caution, their front and flanks screened by scouts. 
After a toilsome journey of fifty miles through 
dense forest, they emerged upon the prairie and the 
difficulties of the march were lightened whilst the 
danger of discovery increased. However, the ad- 
venturers seem to have been attended by the most 
extraordinary good fortune, for on the evening of 
the fourth of July they arrived without mishap on 
the southern bank of the river, upon the opposite 
side of which stood the town they sought. 

The Americans lay concealed in the woods until 
nightfall, when they crossed the stream in some 
boats which they had happily found. When all 
were landed, Clark divided his force into two bod- 
ies. Whilst one of these formed a cordon round 
126 


THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


the fort, he led the other into it. Never was more 
strikingly illustrated the old adage that ‘‘ Fortune 
favors the bold.” The entire population of the 
place was gathered in or about a large hall, where 
the officers of the garrison were giving a ball. Even 
the sentries had deserted their posts to watch the 
dancing and hear the music. Clark had found a 
small gate, through which he and his men easily 
gained admittance to the fort. They traversed the 
deserted streets without exciting attention and at 
last took up posts in the vicinity of the hall, from 
the windows of which floated the mingled sounds 
of music and merry laughter. 

Clark went forward and stood with folded arms 
in the doorway of the building, calmly surveying the 
scene. Some minutes passed before his presence 
was noted. Then a woman, seeing the dread figure 
of an American backwoodsman silhouetted in the 
opening, screamed in terror. Confusion instantly 
prevailed. Shriek followed shriek. The vio.lins 
ceased. The dancers stood riveted to the floor, or 
ran hither and thither aimlessly. The men, as soon 
as they had overcome the first shock of surprise, 
advanced towards the entrance. 

Clark’s waiting men now entered the building and 


127 


DANIEL BOONE 


made the French officers prisoners. A house-to- 
house patrol disarmed all the inhabitants and 
ordered them on the penalty of death to remain 
within doors until daylight. These creole subjects 
of the British King had been taught to believe the 
American backwoodsmen to be more cruel and bar- 
barous than the Indians, and they were filled with 
the worst fears for their fate. Clark sought to 
increase their wild fancies, for he fully appreciated 
the precarious nature of his situation, in the midst 
of a hostile population many times more numerous 
than his own force and surrounded by Indians ready 
to come to their aid. 

The next morning, Clark proved himself to be a 
diplomat no less than a soldier. The news of the 
alliance of France with the young American repub- 
lic had just reached the old-time colony of the for- 
mer in Canada. Counting upon this and his knowl- 
edge that the habitans were inclined to give alle- 
giance to any ruler who would insure them peace 
and protection, he relaxed the acerbity of his de- 
meanor and adopted a friendly attitude towards 
the Kaskaskians. He assured them that it was not 
his desire to treat them with severity. That as 
British subjects they were enemies to the Ameri- 
128 


THE HANNIBAL OF THE WEST 


cans, but if they were willing to take the oath of 
allegiance and to support the American cause, no 
harm should befall them. He assured them that 
their religion should not be interfered with, that 
they should enjoy the fullest protection for their 
property, and that all their rights should be scrupu- 
lously respected. 

The creoles, relieved of the terrible dread that had 
been upon them and overjoyed at the prospect of 
resuming the peaceful, pleasure-seeking lives they 
loved beyond everything else, cheerfully assented 
to sever the slender tie that bound them to the Brit- 
ish Crown. The oath was administered, and the 
American flag floated in British territory. 

The fickle Frenchmen were now moved to en- 
thusiastic admiration and friendliness for their con- 
querors, and many of their young men displayed 
eagerness to fight for them. When Clark organized 
an expedition against Cahokia a body of these vol- 
unteered to augment his meagre detachment, and 
he was only too glad to avail himself of their ser- 
vices. Cahokia was taken without resistance on 
the part of the inhabitants, who were readily per- 
suaded by the French contingent in the American 


9 


129 


DANIEL BOONE 


force to take the oath of allegiance as they had 
done. 

Encouraged by these successes, Clark despatched 
a French priest, who had displayed genuine regard 
for the Americans, to the important post of Vin- 
cennes, with the object of persuading its garrison 
and population to follow the example of the people 
of Kaskaskia and Cahokia. The expedition was en- 
tirely successful. Pere Gibault gathered the inhabi- 
tants' of Vincennes in the church and at the close of 
a convincing argument induced the majority of them 
to take the oath of allegiance to the American Con- 
gress. Clark was delighted at the result of this 
venture but, having no garrison to spare for Vin- 
cennes, was compelled to content himself with a 
commander, who was permitted to raise the Amer- 
ican flag without any opposition. 

It was now August, so that in three short months 
an intrepid leader in command of fewer than two 
hundred men had succeeded in reducing three Brit- 
ish posts and placing a considerable extent of terri- 
tory under the flag of his own country. And this 
wonderful achievement had been accomplished with- 
out the loss of a single life on the side of the 
invaders. 


130 


IX. 

THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES 


Hamilton raises a strong force and regains Vincennes — 

He prepares to move upon the other posts but Clark 

FORESTALLS HIM — A DESPERATE MARCH THROUGH THE 

“drowned” lands — The band struggle along day after 

DAY THROUGH ICY WATER — ThE FOOD GIVES OUT AND STARVA- 
TION STARES THEM IN THE FACE — “ No PROVISIONS YET, 

Lord help us!” — The bold march upon Vincennes 

AND THE attack ON THE FORT — ThE BACKWOODSMEN GIVE 

THE British a lesson in marksmanship — The fort is 

SURRENDERED AND THE GARRISON MADE PRISONERS — GOVER- 
NOR Hamilton is sent to Virginia. 

At the close of the year 1778, Clark found him- 
self in possession of three British posts command- 
ing a territory of many hundreds of square miles, 
in which dwelt an undependable population of 
creoles, and large bands of Indians who might 
become active enemies at any moment. His force 
had become diminished by the return to their homes 
of a number of men whose terms of enlistment had 
expired. He had barely one hundred Americans 
with him, and the French with whom he filled the 

131 


DANIEL BOONE 


vacancies in his ranks were sorry substitutes for 
his sturdy backwoodsmen. 

Henry Hamilton, the Governor of Canada, had 
been on the point of making an aggressive move- 
ment against the American settlements in the West 
when knowledge of Clark’s invasion of British ter- 
ritory came to him. Hamilton was brave and ener- 
getic. He immediately turned his attention to the 
task of ousting the Americans from Canada. At 
Detroit, the headquarters of the dominion, prepara- 
tions were made for a formidable expedition. 

Early in October, Hamilton started for Vincennes 
at the head of a force of about one hundred and 
eighty whites and sixty Indians. The latter con- 
tingent was joined by many bands on the way, until 
the total strength of the command was brought up 
to five hundred. Many difficulties were encoun- 
tered on the journey, which involved the crossing 
of Lake Erie and the passage of several rivers under 
highly unfavorable conditions. At length, however, 
after seventy days of toilsome progress, the mixed 
force reached its destination. 

At the first appearance of the British commandant 
the creole population of the town rushed to tender 
their allegiance. The garrison of the fort promptly 


132 


THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES 


abandoned its arms and followed suit. There were 
but three Americans in the place, and of course 
nothing remained for them but to surrender. They 
were placed under parole and treated with considera- 
tion. Thus by the middle of December the British 
had without any difficulty regained the principal of 
the captured posts. 

Hamilton was now justified in the conclusion that 
he had complete command of the situation. Clark 
could not possibly stand against the overwhelming 
force that the British commander could bring 
against him. The latter decided to defer further 
operations until after the passage of the cold 
weather, during which, in fact, it was almost im- 
possible to traverse the country. Meanwhile, he 
made his plans not only for the comparatively easy 
task of subduing Clark but also for an expedition 
of a thousand Indians, supported by artillery, into 
Kentucky. 

Had the opening of spring found the British 
Governor in a position to prosecute his designs the 
most momentous consequences must have ensued. 
Without doubt he would have cleared the invaders 
from Canada, when that large section of country 
below the Lakes which accrued to us from the treaty 


133 


DANIEL BOONE 


of 1783 would have been lost. But he must also 
have swept the settlers from Kentucky, and would 
probably have worked incalculable damage all along 
the colonial frontier. 

Clark, who had timely news of Hamilton’s move- 
ments, fully appreciated the dangers of his situation 
and knew that he could not hope to hold out against 
the regular soldiers, trained militia, and hordes of 
Indian warriors that Hamilton would bring to the 
attack. He did not despair, however, but calmly 
determined to make the most of circumstances, and 
the good fortune which ever attended Clark in his 
early career here afforded an opportunity for the 
exercise of his peculiar genius. In reviewing the 
incidents of this important campaign, it will not do 
to overlook the fact that only one man in a million 
would have found an opening for action in the cir- 
cumstances that afforded Clark an avenue to victory. 

In January, 1779, a Spanish trader named Vigo 
came to Kaskaskia. He had recently been in Vin- 
cennes, and he imparted to Clark the news that the 
Indians, according to their custom, had repaired to 
their villages for the winter, and that Hamilton had 
but eighty men in the garrison. Vigo also informed 
the American leader of the plans made by the British 


134 


THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES 


commandant for the spring advance upon Kentucky. 
Clark instantly decided to forestall his opponent by 
attacking him without delay. 

During all this time, — nearly a year, — since his 
departure, Clark had received no aid, nor any word, 
from Governor Henry, or any of the officials of 
Virginia. Perhaps his wonderful success was in 
large measure due to the freedom from interference 
that enabled him to exercise his judgment and dar- 
ing without trammel. The adventure which he now 
entered upon was one that only the stoutest heart 
could have contemplated without quailing. If Ham- 
ilton, with his greatly superior resources, deemed the 
passage of the country between Vincennes and Kas- 
kaskia impracticable in winter, how much more 
formidable an undertaking was it to the ill-provided 
force of Clark! 

On the seventh of February the American leader 
started at the head of one hundred and seventy 
men, nearly half of whom were creoles, for Vin- 
cennes. The distance was two hundred and forty 
miles, and the way lay through what was in summer 
time a beautiful region of woodland and prairie, 
but now much of it was what the Indians called 
“ drowned,'' that is, flooded. Fortunately, the 


135 


DANIEL BOONE 


weather was unusually mild, or the troops must 
have suffered intensely from cold, for they carried 
little baggage of any kind and had no tents. Dur- 
ing the earlier stages of the march they secured a 
sufficient supply of game and made enormous fires 
at night, round which they slept in comparative 
comfort. 

For a week the experiences of the party were only 
such as backwoodsmen and trappers were commonly 
accustomed to, but at the end of this time they 
reached the branches of the Wabash and the rigors 
of the journey began. Their road lay first across 
the two forks of the Little Wabash. These were 
three miles apart and hidden beneath a great lake 
five miles in breadth and nowhere less than three 
feet in depth. 

Clark immediately constructed a pirogue, with 
which he crossed the first channel and erected a 
platform on the other side. He then ferried his 
men across, and next brought the baggage over and 
placed it upon the platform. Last of all, he swam 
the pack-horses through the stream, reloaded them 
beside his temporary landing, and marched the en- 
tire party over the flooded land to the farther fork. 
This was passed in a similar manner. The passage 
136 


THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES 


of a little more than three miles occupied as many 
days. 

They had now approached within twenty miles of 
Vincennes, but every step of the way hereafter was 
fraught with dangers and difficulties, and progress 
was painfully slow. All day long they labored 
through ooze, or water, which was sometimes breast- 
high. The floods had cleared the country of game 
and the pangs of hunger were soon added to the 
other privations of the desperate adventurers. 
Clark and his officers directed their utmost efforts 
towards keeping up the spirits of the men, for they 
knew that only thus could they hope to tide them 
over the terrible last stages of the journey. 

On the seventeenth, they reached the Embarrass 
River, but could find nothing in which to cross nor 
a dry spot to camp upon. They passed that night 
huddled together, wet and hungry, upon a small 
hillock that was just clear of the water. In the 
morning they were cheered by the sound of the 
sunrise gun at the fort, but had they known the 
weary way that still lay between them and their 
objective, some of them must have abandoned the 
struggle there and then. 

Three days were now spent in building canoes. 


137 


DANIEL BOONE 


On the twentieth the men had been two days without 
food, and the control that Clark maintained of these 
rude levies may be inferred from the fact that they 
still had the horses, which he did not propose to eat 
except in the last extremity. In the course of the 
day, they captured a boat containing five French- 
men from Vincennes, and were cheered to learn that 
conditions in the town remained in the state de- 
scribed by the trader Vigo. In the evening a deer 
was caught, and the situation of the party was 
thereby materially improved. 

The following morning Clark ferried his troops 
across the river, but found it impossible to bring 
his horses any farther. The captive French were 
carried along, protesting that it was impossible for 
human beings to reach the town by way of the in- 
tervening submerged lands. But Clark was deter- 
mined to go forward, and he led his men through 
the chill waters that often came up to their necks. 
Thus they advanced slowly and painfully for three 
miles, and at night camped upon a little knob of 
wet ground. 

The following morning the march was resumed, 
but some of the men had become too weak to walk 
and these were conveyed in the canoes. They now 
138 


THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES 


came to a stretch of land where the difficulties of 
wading were enhanced by the presence of thick 
bushes. This was passed after wearisome effort, 
but nightfall of the twenty-second found them still 
six miles from the fort Most of the men had 
clearly approached the limits of their endurance, 
and it required all the encouragement of the leader 
to keep them up. In this he was materially aided 
by ‘‘ a little antic drummer,” as he calls him in his 
memoir of the expedition. This youngster seemed 
to have the most buoyant spirits and with his merry 
quips and pranks made the men laugh in the midst 
of their misery. One of the officers closes the entry 
in his diary for this day with the words : “ No pro- 
visions yet. Lord help us ! ” 

This night was bitterly cold. Half an inch of 
ice formed on the stagnant water. The miserable 
adventurers, with empty stomachs and drenched 
clothing, who cowered in the open, or moved about 
to keep their blood in circulation, suffered intensely. 
But the morning broke with a bright sun overhead, 
and with their leader’s assurance that the evening 
would see them at the goal for which they had 
striven so valiantly, the almost exhausted men 
steeled themselves to a final effort. And, indeed. 


139 


c DANIEL BOONE?^ 


they needed all the fortitude and determination that 
they could summon, for the final stage of the march 
proved to be the most trying of all. 

Between the advancing force and Vincennes lay 
a broad sheet of water without as much as a hand’s- 
breadth of land visible. It was four miles across, 
and on the farther side of it lay dense woods. 
Clark once more exhorted his men in fiery words 
to exert their energies to the utmost. He then or- 
dered one of the officers to the rear with a guard 
and instructions to shoot anyone who should refuse 
to go forward. Having provided this sinister rear- 
guard, he assumed the lead and dashed into the 
water, which came up to the middle of his breast. 

By the time they had reached the middle of the 
flooded plain, cold and exhaustion caused the weak- 
est to faint. Their more hardy comrades held them 
in their arms until the canoes could take them on 
board and carry them to dry land. As long as they 
were able, men on the verge of collapse struggled 
on, those with a little superfluous strength lending 
a supporting hand or shoulder where it was sorely 
needed. Clark was unceasing in his efforts to ani- 
mate the poor fellows. Constantly his voice came 
to them in cheery tones, joking, exhorting and prais- 


140 


THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES 


ing. Not once by word or sign did he evince the 
least discouragement or the slightest thought of 
turning from his purpose. 

When at length they reached the margin of this 
icy lake, the strongest had approached the limits of 
their powers of endurance. Many threw them- 
selves down with their faces in the water, and but 
for the interference of their comrades would have 
allowed themselves to drown. Fires were immedi- 
ately built and had hardly been started when a provi- 
dential supply of meat was secured. A party of In- 
dian squaws was captured in a canoe that proved to 
contain a large portion of the carcass of a buffalo. 
Cheered by this good fortune and revived by the 
food, the troops set out again in excellent spirits. 

A short march brought them to a grove of trees, 
in which they halted. Before them, at a distance 
of two miles, stood the town and fort of Vincennes, 
the prize for which they had endured as much as 
mortal men might. In the middle ground lay a 
plain over which in different directions rode a num- 
ber of creole hunters shooting ducks. Clark de- 
spatched a party which succeeded in capturing one 
of the sportsmen. From the prisoner Clark learned 
with some annoyance that a party of two hundred 


DANIEL BOONE 


Indians were then in the town. This would make 
the armed force at the command of the British com- 
mandant four times the number of his own men. 
Still he determined to proceed without delay. He 
was particularly anxious to avoid killing any of the 
inhabitants or Indians, whose good-will he hoped to 
gain. He decided, therefore, not to rely upon the 
uncertain chance of a surprise but to make his ad- 
vance openly and give notice of his intended attack. 
The creole was despatched to the town with a mes- 
sage to the inhabitants stating that if they observed 
strict neutrality and remained in their houses dur- 
ing the fighting, no harm would befall them. 

At sundown Clark marched his men in regular 
ranks against Vincennes. As he had anticipated, 
the creole population offered no resistance and the 
town was occupied without any opposition. The 
proclamation hacj not only induced the inhabitants 
to passivity but had also caused the Indians, who 
were not in a fighting temper, to take their depar- 
ture. One of the chiefs offered to support Clark 
with his band but the American leader declined the 
aid, saying that if the Indians would refrain from 
any interference he would ask no more of them. 

During the night Clark took advantage of the 


142 


THE VICTORY OF VINCENNES 


darkness to throw up intrenchments against the fort, 
and at sunrise the garrison found the Americans in 
a strong position. Firing was at once commenced 
and maintained during the next few hours, with the 
result that six or seven of the defenders were killed, 
or wounded, while the attacking party suffered no 
loss. Before midday Clark sent forward a flag of 
truce with a demand upon the fort to surrender. 
Plis troops took advantage of the short lull in hos- 
tilities to eat a hearty breakfast, which was the first 
sufficient meal any of them had enjoyed in six days. 

Hamilton refused to capitulate but proposed a 
truce for three days. This proposition Clark, of 
course, instantly rejected and hostilities were re- 
sumed. After further losses on the side of the 
British it became apparent that the Detroit militia 
were weakening, although the regulars held firm. 
At the approach of evening Hamilton proposed a 
meeting of the respective commanders, and they 
accordingly repaired to an old French church in 
the vicinity. After considerable discussion, Hamil- 
ton agreed that his garrison of seventy-nine men 
should surrender as prisoners of war. 

This was a most notable achievement. Clark had 
without the loss of a man taken a strong fort de- 


143 


DANIEL BOONE 


fended by trained soldiers and protected by cannon. 
It was also highly important in its results, for it 
assured to the infant republic a large territory and 
saved the Kentuckians from an attack which would 
surely have overwhelmed them. In the contem- 
plation of the exploits of the Revolutionary heroes 
this splendid performance of the “ Hannibal of the 
West ” is too frequently overlooked or not properly 
appreciated. 

Clark sent Hamilton and a score or more of the 
prisoners to Virginia. The remainder he paroled. 
Reinforcements soon arrived and strong garrisons 
were placed in the captured posts. The Indians 
were placated and in many cases friendly relations 
were established with them. They soon learned to 
have the greatest confidence in Clark, and up to 
the time of his death he exercised an influence over 
them to which few other white men attained. 


X. 

A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


The warriors and their prisoners start for the 
Indian country — Boone lightens the journey and 

PUTS THE CAPTORS IN GOOD HUMOR — STEPHEN HaLLIWELL 
FALLS ILL OF A FEVER — He IS IN DANGER OF BEING TOMA- 
HAWKED BY THE SAVAGES — BoONE UNDERTAKES THE CARE 
OF THE FEEBLE MAN — No INDIAN SHALL RAISE YOUR HAIR 
WHILST I CAN RAISE A HAND TO PREVENT IT ” — HaLLIWELL 
IS DOOMED TO DEATH BUT BOONE STAYS THE EXECUTIONERS — 

He carries the exhausted man over the last stage 

OF THE MARCH — ThE PARTY ARRIVES AT ChILLICOTHE — 

Boone and others are taken to the British post at 
Detroit. 

The month of February, 1778, was unusually 
mild. A few inches of snow fell during the night 
following the capture of Boone and his men but 
the next day a thaw set in.' The condition of the 
ground rendered walking tiresome and disagreeable 
and made it difficult to secure a dry bed at night. 
It also obliterated ordinary traces and almost pre- 
cluded the possibility of pursuers finding and follow- 
ing the trail of the band of Indians and their prison- 

145 


10 


DANIEL BOONE 


ers. Boone noted this circumstance with satisfaction. 
His chief anxiety now was lest the men of Boones- 
borough should attempt a rescue, which could only 
end in disaster and might induce the savages to 
revert to their original design of attacking the fort. 
Before starting upon the march he instructed his 
men not to resort to any of the usual devices for 
creating a trace, such as leaving scraps of clothing 
on bushes, breaking off twigs, pieces of bark, and 
so on. 

The Indians divided their captives into three 
equal squads of nine each, and themselves into four 
bodies of twenty-five warriors, sandwiching the 
former between the latter, and this order was main- 
tained upon the daily march. The whites had, of 
course, been deprived of their weapons and could 
not have made any concerted attack on their captors 
with the least chance of success. Any individual 
attempt at escape during daylight must have been 
even more hopeless. 

A consignment of salt having been sent to Boones- 
borough a few days before the capture, there was 
but one pack-horse in the camp at the licks when 
it fell into the hands of the Indians. This animal 
was loaded with as much of the plunder as it could 
146 


A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


carry and heavy rifles were distributed among 
the Indian ponies, but the arrangement left a large 
amount of baggage unprovided with carriage and 
this was distributed among the prisoners. Each 
had a burden of fifty or sixty pounds, which con- 
sisted largely of the blankets and skins with which 
he was permitted to cover himself at night. Such 
a load would tire the ordinary man in an hour, but 
these hardy backwoodsmen could carry it all day and 
over fifteen miles of heavy ground, not without 
great fatigue, of course, but without breaking down. 
Thus they tramped along under the dripping boughs 
of the silent forest, their moccasins squelching the 
spongy earth and their long hair hanging wet and 
stringy about their necks. 

At night the camp was pitched in some place that 
afforded natural protection from the wind, and this 
was, perhaps, supplemented by a screen of boughs. 
Game was plentiful that season and they suffered 
nothing from lack of food. Whilst the Indians 
naturally retained for themselves the choicest por- 
tions, the prisoners received sufficient to satisfy their 
appetites. In the centre of the camp a large fire 
was made and around this the twenty-seven white 
men stretched themselves to sleep, with their feet 


147 


DANIEL BOONE 


towards the blazing logs. This group was encircled 
by a ring of smaller fires at which the nundred sav- 
ages lay close together, forming a human belt round 
the encampment. 

The arrangement was a sufficiently comfortable 
one for the captives, but it presented little prospect 
of escape. The prisoners lay in the full glare of the 
girdle of flame and could not stir whilst an Indian 
remained awake without attracting attention. But 
even though every one of them was sunk in slum- 
ber it would be a task of the utmost difficulty to 
pass through their prostrate ranks undetected, for 
the savage has the dog-like habit of sleeping with 
senses on the alert. The slightest sound, a strange 
smell, the lightest touch, will arouse him to full 
intelligence in an instant. 

No doubt Boone might have effected his escape 
had he been so minded. He was one of the few 
frontiersmen who acquired the peculiarly subtle 
qualities of the savages, and even excelled the craft- 
iest of them in many respects. No redskin could 
wriggle over the ground more stealthily than he, nor 
tread the earth with less disturbance. He knew the 
character of the Indians thoroughly, and this knowl- 
edge he turned to account in the several instances 
148 


A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


that he fell into their hands. From the first moment 
of capture, he always turned his attention to arous- 
ing a desirable condition of mind in his captors, and 
this will account for the fact that they invariably 
treated him well. 

He knew how to play upon their feelings, how to 
tickle their sense of humor, how to excite their self 
esteem, how to allay their suspicions. He would 
interest them with stories of the white folks. He 
would entertain them with feats of strength or dex- 
terity. He would gratify them by imparting some 
bit of useful knowledge or some practical sugges- 
tion. Or, mindful of their love of debate, he would 
lead them into some discussion, taking care, whilst 
infusing sufficient zest into his contention, to leave 
his dusky opponents final masters of the argument. 

And all the while he would maintain a perfect 
appearance of the utmost unconcern with regard to 
himself and his fate. Never by word, look, or ges- 
ture would he display the slightest fear or uneasi- 
ness of mind. As a matter of fact, this attitude was 
in complete consonance with the state of his feelings. 
From his first capture by Indians, during his expe- 
dition to Kentucky in 1769, until the day of his 
death, Boone always felt, when in their hands, the 


149 


DANIEL BOONE 


utmost confidence in his ability to influence them and 
to make his escape from them. No band ever held 
him prisoner without coming under the spell of his 
magnetism and admiring his calm self-possession. 
If any other man enjoyed the same exemption from 
fear of the redskins, and possessed the same power 
of arousing their better natures, it was George 
Rogers Clark. 

As we have intimated, to have given his present 
captors the slip would have been no great feat on 
the part of Boone, but he did not entertain the idea. 
In the first place, he was restrained by the convic- 
tion that the loss of their chief prize would arouse 
the savages to fury and prompt them to wreak ven- 
geance upon the other captives. Furthermore, he 
considered it his duty to remain with his men, who 
had no one among them capable of filling his place 
as leader or counsellor. Had Boone entertained any 
different ideas, circumstances which arose at the 
close of the first day’s march would have put them 
to rout. 

In the squad of prisoners that included Boone 
was a young fellow named Stephen Halliwell, who 
had been sickening for days previous to the capture. 
By almost superhuman effort he got through the 
150 


A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


first march and when camp was reached fell upon 
the ground in a state of collapse. Boone was 
seriously concerned about the man, but not so much 
on account of his fever as because it was the invaria- 
ble practice of the Indians to tomahawk sick or weak 
prisoners in order that they should not impede 
progress. Boone made a comfortable bed for the 
sufferer beside himself, using most of his own cover- 
ing in doing so, and he exerted himself more than 
ever that night to put the Indians round the camp 
fires in good humor. 

The next morning poor Halliwell braced himself 
for the fearful struggle of another day. Boone 
had learned from the Indians that they expected to 
reach their town at the close of the third full day’s 
march. This prospect alone gave the fever-stricken 
man the courage to proceed. Boone carried Halli- 
well’s pack in addition to his own and the sick man’s 
comrades took turns in supporting his tottering 
steps. Many a sinister glance was cast by the 
nearby savages at the evidently exhausted captive, 
but Boone was ever ready to avert the impending 
doom. He tramped along carelessly, almost jauntily, 
under his double load and constantly kept the neigh- 
boring redskins entertained — now he joked with 


DANIEL BOONE 


them, offering to match himself against any squaw 
in their tribe at carrying a pack; now he pointed 
to the faint trace of some game animal that had 
lately passed that way and started a discussion of 
the best manner of tracking it. Anon he gave them 
a description of one of the great coast towns of 
the Long Knives,'’ of which he knew only by 
hearsay. Again he sang a song or started a contest 
in mirracry with some brave, each being required 
to imitate the cries of certain beasts and birds. And 
so the weary day drew to a close and Halliwell, 
almost carried by one of his companions, reached the 
night's camp. 

The sick man was in a sorry plight. He had 
neither the will nor the power to make the slightest 
effort for himself. He dropped almost inanimate 
and so lay until Boone and another made his bed 
and rolled him in the blankets. A large stone was 
then heated in the fire and placed at his feet, with 
the object of producing a sweat. He was with diffi- 
culty induced to swallow a little broth, and then lay 
for hours in a semi-comatose condition, groaning 
feebly. 

Towards midnight Halliwell awoke from a brief 


152 


A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


and restless slumber and turned to Boone, who was 
watching him. 

** Captain,” said the sick man, in feeble tones — 

Captain, youVe done all you could for me and 
more than I had a right to expect, but Tm afraid 
it’s no use. IVe shot my bolt, Captain.” The last 
words were uttered with an air of the deepest 
despair. A moment after, ashamed at the show of 
weakness, he continued, with a pitiful atteuipt at 
bravado: I’m half minded to ask you to whip my 
scalp off. Captain, so as to cheat these red devils.” 

“ You’ve got to make a better stand than that, 
Steve,” replied Boone. If I’d had any idea of let- 
ting you lose your scalp, I shouldn’t have gone to the 
trouble of carrying your pack to-day. We haven’t 
got to to-morrow yet. Now you go to sleep and 
don’t worry until worrying can do you some good, 
which’ll be never. If it’ll give you any satisfaction. 
I’ll say this much. No Indian shall raise your hair 
whilst I can raise a hand to prevent it.” 

This assurance evidently cheered the wretched 
man. With a sigh of relief, he composed himself 
to sleep, whilst Boone rearranged his coverings. 

The morning of the third and last day’s march 
opened to find Halliwell quite incapable of going 


153 


DANIEL BOONE 


farther. He could hardly stand, and his legs bent 
under him when he attempted to walk. As his dis- 
mayed companions stood around him, at a loss what 
to do, two warriors approached, tomahawk in hand. 
They had been ordered to do away with the unfor- 
tunate man, who had already occasioned sufficient 
delay in the start to excite the impatience of the 
Indians. 

Boone stepped between the appointed executioners 
and their intended victim, and with upraised hand 
motioned them to stop. There was something in 
the quiet air of command that constrained the sav- 
ages to obey the unarmed man. Boone then ad- 
dressed the five chiefs, who stood together at a 
short distance. He said that it would serve no good 
purpose to kill the man and might bring great 
trouble upon themselves. If their only object was 
the professed one of avoiding delay, -it might be ac- 
complished without recourse to the measure they 
contemplated. He would carry the sick man 
through the last stage of the journey and would 
undertake that they should not impede the march. 
If he failed to fulfill his promise, they might toma- 
hawk both himself and his charge. 

To this proposition the Indians assented without 


154 



Boone was Nearing the Limit op His Endurance 






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A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


hesitation. They were not, however, moved to this 
action by any sense of humanity but by the respect 
they already felt for Boone and, even more, by the 
desire to see him perform the extraordinary feat of 
carrying a man weighing something like one hun- 
dred and fifty pounds for a distance of thirteen 
miles. The arrangements were quickly made. 
Boone’s pack and that of Halliwell were divided 
among their comrades. With a buffalo skin and 
thongs of elk’s hide a sling was constructed and so 
adjusted as to secure the greatest degree of ease to 
the sick man whilst causing as little unnecessary 
strain upon Boone as possible. This done, Halli- 
well was lifted into the contrivance and the march 
commenced. 

Boone knew that he was making no idle boast 
when he undertook the task that amazed the Indians. 
He had more than once carried an equal weight of 
dead matter for as great a distance. It was not, 
nevertheless, any light undertaking. Before the 
journey was more than half completed, he began to 
look forward to its close with eager anticipation, 
and when at length the party arrived within sight 
of Chillicothe, on the banks of the Little Miami, 
Boone was nearing the limit of his endurance. But 


155 


DANIEL BOONE 


the savages, who frequently looked at him with 
curious wonder, had not the satisfaction of learning 
this. He turned upon them his usual calm, in- 
scrutable countenance, and replied to their jibes with 
perfect good-nature. 

A great concourse awaited their coming on the 
outskirts of the town. The larger part of the crowd 
was composed of unkempt squaws, in dirty clothing, 
many of them with babies strapped to their backs. 
Young boys and girls, with a sprinkling of aged 
grandsires, made up the remainder, whilst the mon- 
grel dogs of the Indians yelped an excited welcome 
to their returning masters. A mile from the town 
the warriors had begun to chant their song of vic- 
tory, and as they neared the waiting throng they set 
to brandishing their weapons and shouting exult- 
antly. The prisoners were conducted to the great 
square and there subjected to the curious scrutiny 
of the women and children for the space of an 
hour or two. The greatest interest was displayed 
in the white squaw who had come in carrying his 
sick papoose upon his back. 

The Shawnees kept Boone and his companions 
at old Chillicothe for nearly three weeks, during 
which time they were well treated and, from the 
is6 


A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


Indian point of view, comfortably lodged. At 
length ten of the prisoners and Boone were sent, 
under the escort of forty of the savages, to Detroit. 
Here they were, as Boone declared, treated by 
Governor Hamilton, the British commander at that 
post, with great humanity.” Boone did not forget 
this kindness and afterwards, when Hamilton was 
an execrated prisoner in the hands of the Americans, 
Boone befriended him to the best of his ability. 

The ten men who had been brought to Detroit 
in company with their captain were readily ransomed 
by the British, but the Indians declined to dispose 
of Boone in the same manner. The Governor 
offered one hundred pounds sterling — an extraor- 
dinary sum — for his release, intending to liberate 
him on parole. The offer must have been an ex- 
tremely tempting one, but the Shawnees resolutely 
refused it. Boone had created a deep impression 
on their chiefs, and it had been determined, although 
the fact was not then announced, to adopt him into 
the tribe. 

Boone made no effort to influence the issue one 
way or the other. Perhaps he realized that it would 
be futile to attempt to turn the Indians from their 
purpose. Perhaps he thought it advisable to go 
157 


DANIEL BOONE 


back to the remainder of his men. Or, which is 
highly probable, he was anxious for the opportunity 
of learning more about the tribe which constituted 
the chief menace to his people in Kentucky. What- 
ever his motive, he displayed such willingness to 
accompany the Shawnees back to Chillicothe that 
they were deluded into the belief that he was really 
disposed to become one of themselves. 

Some of the officers at Detroit pressed gifts of 
money and various useful articles upon Boone, but 
he declined them all, saying that so far as he could 
foresee, the opportunity to repay their proffered 
kindness would never occur and he could not allow 
himself to lie under a perpetual obligation to them. 
Their good wishes he thankfully acknowledged, and 
left them with feelings of respect and admiration 
for him. 

Early in April the Shawnees turned homeward 
with the prisoner upon whom they set so high a 
value. Their satisfaction in the possession of him 
prompted them to guard him with the utmost care, 
but he soon discovered that he had risen in their 
estimation and regard since the visit to Detroit. 
The march was a long and tedious one of three 
158 


A FEAT OF STRENGTH 


weeks’ duration, but during its course everything 
was done to promote the comfort of the captive. 
Boone was not slow to foster the good feelings 
evinced by his captors, and by the time they arrived 
at Chillicothe the most cordial relations existed be- 
tween them and himself. 


XI. 

“BIG TURTLE” 


Boone is formally adopted by the Shawnees — He becomes 
THE SON OF BlACKFISH AND IS GIVEN THE NAME OF BiG 

Turtle — The Indians treat him well but watch him 
CLOSELY — A description OF Old Chillicothe and its 
PEOPLE — Boone gains the confidence of the tribe so 

THAT THEY ALLOW HIM TO GO ON SHORT HUNTING TRIPS — He 
accumulates a store of ammunition AND SECRETES IT — 
A WAR-PARTY OF VARIOUS TRIBES VISITS THE TOWN — BoONE 
LEARNS THEIR PURPOSE TO ATTACK THE KENTUCKY SETTLE- 
MENTS — He contrives his escape and makes for Boones- 
BOROUGH — Arrives after a remarkable journey. 

Adoption was a common practice among the In- 
dians, and probably had always been so. They 
readily extended it to include white men, as the 
history of the earliest settlements proves. There 
are grounds for believing that, while most of the 
members of the lost colony ” of Roanoke were 
doubtless massacred, some of them survived as In- 
dians by adoption and left descendants. John 
Smith was adopted by the Powhatans as the son of 


i6o 


“ BIG TURTLE ” 


their great Werowance, and the Susquehannas were 
anxious to make him their chief. 



the time to which our story relates, the practice 
was prevalent among the Indians of the border and 
was usually resorted to with a view to filling the 
places of warriors killed in battle. Once admitted 
to the tribe, the white Indian was treated with kind- 
ness and often with more consideration than would 
have been the case had he been born among his 
adoptive relatives. He was, however, closely 
watched until his captors believed him to be fully 
reconciled to his new condition. 

It was seldom that adult whites, thus forcibly 
affiliated with the redskins, missed a favorable 
opportunity to escape, and consequently the Indians 
became more disposed to the adoption of children. 
With respect to the latter, their designs were nat- 
urally attended by better success. The boy, pre- 
pared perhaps by a disposition inherited from back- 
woods ancestors, readily adapted himself to his new 
surroundings and soon became enamoured of the 
free ^nd active life of the village and the camp. 
In many instances, youths recovered by their natural 
parents after many years’ residence with the Indians 
displayed the greatest repugnance to the ways of 


II 


DANIEL BOONE 


civilization, and sometimes ran away, returning to 
the people of their adoption. 

Shortly after Boone’s return from Detroit, he 
was informed that his captors had determined to 
admit him into the tribe and that he was to become 
the son of the renowned warrior Blackfish, who was 
the chief of the band that inhabited Chillicothe. 
Boone professed to be gratified by the announce- 
ment and duly appreciative of the great honor of 
being adopted by the most powerful Indian of those 
parts. The tribesmen were delighted by his com- 
placence and entered upon the ceremony with the 
utmost enthusiasm, for many of them had become 
sincerely attached to their extraordinary captive. 

The ceremony of adoption, which the Indians 
naturally viewed with a sense of solemn importance, 
occupied several days and included featui'es that 
were not altogether pleasant to the central figure in 
it. Indeed, the first stage of the initiation severely 
taxed Boone’s patience and fortitude, and more than 
once he was forced to convert a grimace of pain 
into a pretended grin of amusement. The opera- 
tion of forming the scalp-lock was performed in 
the presence of the warriors, who closely noted the 
manner in which the victim bore his sufferings. 

162 


“ BIG TURTLE ” 


Boone was required to seat himself and was ex- 
pected to remain passive while two Indians tore his 
hair out by the roots. The ordeal was the more 
severe because the operation was protracted and the 
hair plucked in small strands. It was customary 
to allow the subject of this ceremony one or two 
intervals for rest and the recovery of his nervous 
system. The usual respite was offered to Boone 
but he replied that if the operators were not too 
tired to proceed he should like them to go ahead and 
finish their work. This they did and at the end of 
several hours Boone’s long locks had all disappeared 
with the exception of one thick tuft in the centre 
of the crown. This was the scalp-lock. When it 
had been tied up with ribbon and fixed with feathers 
the operation was pronounced complete and our hero 
stood forth literally and metaphorically a redskin, 
so far as his head was concerned. 

The next morning Boone was conducted to the 
river, stripped of his clothing and led into the water. 
He was then vigorously washed and rubbed “ to 
take all his white blood out.” Following this ablu- 
tion, he was led to the council-house, where the 
chief, in this case the adoptive father, made an 
address. The initiate was informed of the great 
163 


DANIEL BOONE 


honors and benefits that would accrue to him by 
admission to the tribe-; he was instructed as to the 
duties that would devolve upon him and the course 
of behavior he would be expected to follow. The 
assembled warriors were also reminded of the rights 
and future status of their new brother and exhorted 
to accord to him proper treatment and consideration. 

At the completion of the chief’s speech, which 
was received with grunts of approval, two Indians 
approached Boone, who stood in the centre of the 
chamber, and with pigments of various hues pro- 
ceeded to paint his head and face after the most 
approved fashion. This was the final step in the 
ceremony. Boone was now a full-blown Shawnee, 
and his fellow-tribesmen crowded round to con- 
gratulate him. A big feast was now spread. After 
they had eaten heartily, pipes were lit and the com- 
pany sat smoking and talking far into the night. 
Boone’s natural dignity and habitual self-control 
enabled him to adapt himself to his new role with 
ease, and before the gathering broke up the warriors 
had begun to look upon him as a kindred spirit and 
boon companion. 

The town of which Boone was now an inhabitant 
under the name of Sheltowee, or Big Turtle,” was 
164 


“ BIG TURTLE ” 


situated on the banks of the Little Miami River. 
The buildings were ranged round a great square 
which, like the market-place of a country town, was 
the common resort of loungers and the general ren- 
dezvous of the community. Here they performed 
their ceremonial dances, erected the war-post, cele- 
brated victory or bemoaned defeat, indulged in 
various sports, including the torture of prisoners, 
divided spoils, held mass-meetings, and in short 
gathered for any purpose of general interest. 

The council-house was the principal building in 
the town. It stood on somewhat elevated ground 
at the northern end of the square and was con- 
structed of logs in part painted and carved. The 
roof was finished with slabs of bark and the interior 
furnished with mats and the skins of various ani- 
mals. A platform, raised to the height of about 
two feet, ran round three sides of the wall, leaving 
a sort of pit in the centre. Upon this platform the 
warriors squatted on the occasions of councils, the 
receptions of delegations from other tribes, or delib- 
erations on the fate of prisoners; the visitors, or 
captives, occupying the central and less elevated 
space. 

The cabins of the population, which numbered 
165 


DANIEL BOONE 


about six hundred, were of a permanent character 
and not unlike those of the poorer class of settlers 
in form. Scattered about amongst them were corn- 
cribs, poultry-houses and dug-outs. The last were 
by the Indians called “ hot-houses,” and consisted 
of holes in the ground to which the people resorted 
in particularly severe weather. 

Boone, or “ Sheltowee,” as the Indians now 
always called him, was assigned to lodgings in a 
small hut with two young braves for companions. 
The accommodations were far from what he could 
have desired, but they were as good as those enjoyed 
by the chief, his adoptive father, and he accepted 
them with his usual philosophy. Accustomed to 
fresh air in abundance, Boone found the close and 
foul atmosphere of the wigwam almost intolerable. 
The place was often filled with acrid smoke and 
always infested by insects. How filthy it was he 
could only guess, for the light of day never pene- 
trated to its interior. 

Even the strong stomach of Boone rebelled 
against the food that was presented to him. It was 
plentiful and of materials that in another form 
would have been appetizing, but the Indian methods 
of cooking spoilt it. Meat, corn, hominy, beans, and 

i66 


« BIG TURTLE ” 


1 other vegetables were stewed in bear’s oil, with 
little care for cleanliness, and served in one repellent 
: mess. But Boone forced himself to swallow his 
meals with feigned enjoyment and, indeed, made a 
point of affecting satisfaction and contentment with 
all the conditions of his new life. 

Boone soon discovered that he was watched dur- 
ing every moment of the day, but he did not allow 
the Indians to know that he was aware of the fact. 
The surveillance was often cleverly contrived to 
evade his detection but never succeeded in that re- 
spect. The copper-colored urchin who with pre- 
cocious cunning pretended to casually encounter him 
on the outskirts of the town was instantly recognized 
as a spy, but treated as a welcome friend, and after 
a joyous romp carried home on the shoulder of the 
man he had been set to watch. At night no guard 
was placed, nor was any necessary, for although 
Boone might with little difficulty have eluded his 
sleeping companions, he could not have walked 
twenty paces outside the hut without arousing the 
dogs which fairly swarmed about the town. These 
gaunt mongrels were particularly exu* 


they smelt a white man and snarled 
at any that came near them. 



DANIEL BOONE 


But it was not in Boone’s mind to make any 
attempt to escape for the present. It was his pur- 
pose to turn his captivity to good account by im- 
proving his knowledge of the Indians and gaining 
information as to their contemplated movements 
against the settlers. His efforts were now bent 
towards increasing the feeling of friendliness that 
they entertained towards him and exciting their 
confidence in him. He took part in the sports and 
contests of the young braves, but shrewdly regulated 
his conduct so as to arouse their admiration without 
exciting their envy. In the shooting matches he 
might easily have outdone the best of them, but he 
contented himself with making a good showing 
without equalling the performances of their best 
marksmen. 

Boone’s judicious behavior soon created in the 
Indians the state of mind that he had desired. 
Blackfish grew quite fond of his adopted son, and 
in the course of a few weeks began to entertain the 
belief that he had made up his mind to remain with 
the Indians and continue the life that appeared to be 
so congenial to him. Boone was now permitted to 
go on occasional hunting trips alone, but the chief 
was not yet entirely devoid of suspicion. The 


i68 


« BIG TURTLE ” 


hunter’s hours were limited and he was given to 
understand that if his absence exceeded the stipu- 
lated period of liberty, a party would be sent in 
search of him. The number of bullets and the 
charges of powder issued to him were carefully 
counted, and he was held to a strict accountability 
for the supply. But Boone was even more shrewd 
and cunning than Blackfish. By cutting his bullets 
in two and using reduced charges of powder, the 
backwoodsman contrived to accumulate a consider- 
able store of ammunition, which he secreted for use 
in emergency. 

Early in June Boone was sent with a party of 
braves to the salt springs of the Spofo, where they 
remained ten days engaged in the manufacture of 
salt. On his return to Chillicothe, he was greatly 
concerned to find in the town something like five 
hundred strange warriors, fully armed and bedecked 
in war-paint and feathers. Boone’s knowledge of 
the Shawnee language was more thorough than he 
had allowed the Indians to imagine, and mingling 
with the crowd in the square he had no difficulty 
in picking up all the information that he needed. 
He learned that the war party was organized for an 
immediate attack upon Boonesborough, to which 
169 


DANIEL BOONE 


they had been instigated by the British commandant 
at Detroit. He ascertained the proposed route and 
other details of the expedition. 

Boone decided that he must escape without an 
hour’s unnecessary delay. That night the Indians 
engaged in their war dances and other ceremonies 
and no doubt he might have slipped away from the 
town without being missed until he should have 
gained several hours’ start, but many considera- 
tions induced him to defer his departure. Boone 
never lost his head. Indeed, the greater the emer- 
gency the more carefully he laid his plans before 
action. The first stages of his journey would be 
through a district difficult to traverse and with which 
he was little acquainted, whilst the warriors of 
Chillicothe were perfectly familiar with every rood 
of it. Consequently a night start would give him 
less advantage than an equal number of hours’ head- 
way in the daytime. Furthermore, he had that day 
made a long march and was somewhat fatigued. 
The task he proposed for himself would tax his 
strength to the utmost and he determined to fortify 
himself with a night’s rest before setting out upon it. 

The next morning Boone left the town with his 
rifle as though going upon one of his usual hunting 


170 


“ BIG TURTLE ” 


trips. This was the more easily contrived because 
the presence in the place of so many strangers made 
it necessary for the young braves to secure a much 
larger supply of meat than ordinary. He had not 
dared to excite suspicion by providing himself with 
any considerable quantity of food but he managed 
to secrete a small piece of jerked venison in his hunt- 
ing-shirt. He made directly for the spot where his 
reserve stock of ammunition lay hidden and filled 
his powder-horn and bullet-pouch. Thus equipped, 
he headed for the Ohio with all the speed he could 
command. 

Boonesborough was one hundred and sixty miles 
away, and Boone proposed to cover the distance in 
the least possible time. He knew that he would 
be pursued within a few hours and realized that the 
greatest danger of his recapture would be passed if 
he should gain safely the other side of the Ohio. 
He therefore exerted himself to the utmost at the 
outset, combining speed with skilful efforts to hide 
his trail. His route lay through dense forest and 
led him across several streams and through more 
than one swamp. Where the ground was firm and 
fairly open, he ran with long, loping strides for 
hours at a time. The first night the moon served 


DANIEL BOONE 


him until early morning and he kept on his way until 
it set, stopping to sleep for a few hours only before 
dawn. The next day similar progress was made, 
and on the morning of the third Boone arrived at 
the bank of the Ohio River. He had covered more 
than seventy miles in about forty-four hours. 

Here an obstruction confronted the fugitive that 
had not been unforeseen. Boone was an indifferent 
swimmer. Recent long-continued rains had swelled 
the river and it was running with a strong current. 
It would be hazardous to delay long and Boone was 
hastily skirting the bank, almost decided to commit 
himself to the stream with a log upon the chance 
of reaching the other side, when he stumbled upon 
an abandoned canoe. The paddle lay with it but 
a large hole gaped in one end. This Boone stopped 
with his hunting-shirt, and launching the rickety 
craft succeeded in gaining the farther bank. 

Although he began to feel confident of eluding 
his pursuers after putting the river between them 
and himself, Boone realized that he was not out of 
danger and pushed on rapidly. His own safety 
was not the only incentive to speed. If the war 
party had adhered to its plan it must have left Chilli- 
cothe two days after Boone and every hour gained 


172 


“BIG TURTLE” 


to Boonesborough for defense would be of account. 

On the third day, after crossing the Ohio, Boone 
shot a turkey and made a hearty meal upon it, and 
this was the only one that he allowed himself in five 
days. At other times he had eaten morsels of his 
jerk as he went along. At the close of the fifth day 
he walked into the stockade at Boonesborough, hav- 
ing averaged more than thirty miles of travel for 
every twenty-four hours from the time of leaving 
Chillicothe. 



XII. 

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


Boone sets the defences of Boonesborough in order — He 

LEARNS OF THE DEPARTURE OF HIS FAMILY — “ YoU SEE, THEY 

ALL THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, Dad ” — BoONE CARRIES “ THE 

WAR INTO Africa ” — His party have a skirmish with 

THE Indians — The run back to Boonesborough — Black- 

fish AND HIS WARRIORS APPEAR BEFORE THE STOCKADE — 

Parleying and fencing — Boone gains time and sends 

FOR RELIEF — BlACKFISH PLANS A TREACHEROUS MANCEUVRE 

— He seeks to beguile the settlers with a false 

TREATY — The trap is laid with skill — But the whites 

BREAK OUT OF IT AFTER A DESPERATE STRUGGLE. 

Boone appeared in the stockade like one coming 
from the dead. Nothing had been heard of any of 
the party captured at the salt licks, and it was gener- 
ally believed that all had been killed. It was, there- 
fore, with feelings of unbounded joy that the settlers 
crowded round their regained leader, eagerly de- 
manding his story. But Boone declined, for the 
present, to satisfy their curiosity. He had more 
momentous matters in his mind. On entering the 
fort he had noticed that the defences had been 


174 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


allowed to fall into a condition of neglect and that 
a general state of unpreparedness for attack pre- 
vailed. Weary and hungry as he was, he set about 
improving affairs before attending to his personal 
needs and comfort. 

He warned the settlers that they might expect 
the arrival of the Indians in great force within three 
or four days’ time, and urged upon all the necessity 
of the utmost exertion in the meanwhile. The 
women were to busy themselves m oulding bullet s 
and the men in repairing the stockade. Three 
mounted messengers were immediately despatched 
to the Holston, with a request to Colonel Campbell 
for reinforcements. Dthers were sent to Harrods- 
burg and Logan’s Station on similar errands. Run- 
ners began the circuit of the outlying farms to round 
up all the people belonging to Boonesborough and 
scouts set off in the direction from which the Indians 
would approach. 

Having taken all the measures immediately pos- 
sible for the defence of his post, Boone turned 
towards his cabin. It was characteristic of him 
that, notwithstanding he missed his family from 
among the throng that greeted his return, he had 
made no inquiry for them, although Hardy and 


175 


DANIEL BOONE 


Kenton had been the first to welcome him, but had 
addressed himself at once to the business in hand. 
Now, as he walked with these two friends across the 
square, the desire to hear of his loved ones was 
uppermost in his mind. 

Mother took the children and went back to her 
father’s place on the Yadkin,” began Hardy, antici- 
pating the question that hung on Boone’s lips. 
“ You see, they all thought you were dead. Dad. 
But we didn’t. Did we, Kenton ? ” 

Well, hardly,” replied the scout, with a chuckle. 

I kinder thought I’d hear something drop, Cap- 
tain, in case your hair was raised.” 

Well, if I wasn’t scalped, I was plucked, and 
that’s the next thing to it,” said Boone, removing 
his felt hat and displaying his bald pate and scalp- 
lock to his astonished companions. “ I’m a full- 
blooded Indian, Hardy. Your dad is Sheltowee, 
the Big Turtle, and he’s apt to go on the rampage 
any time, so watch out, young man.” 

By this time the trio had arrived at Boone’s cabin, 
but before they could set about their preparations for 
supper neighbors began to arrive with an abundance 
and variety of food, prompted equally by a desire 
to ser\"e their leader and impatient curiosity to hear 
176 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


his story. The party made a hearty meal in the 
open, and then Boone related to them all that had 
befallen him since the New Year’s Day on which 
he set out for the Lower Blue Licks with the band 
of salt-makers. The tale was long in the telling, 
for the description of the Indian village and the 
customs of its inhabitants was new to the auditors. 
They, in their turn, had many matters of more or 
less moment to mention to Boone, so that the sum- 
mer night was far advanced when this man of iron 
turned to his couch for a much needed rest. 

The next day work upon the necessary repairs to 
the fort was entered into with vigor. From time to 
time settlers, alarmed by the urgency of the call, 
came in with their families. Men, women and chil- 
dren were kept busy from early morning until night, 
for there was work in which all could take some 
part. When the fourth, and then the fifth, day 
passed without the appearance of the Indians, there 
was some inclination to desist, but Boone insisted 
upon a completion of the preparations without de- 
lay, and would not allow any of the men to return 
to their farms until the fort was in a satisfactory 
state. 

After ten days’ hard labor the stockade was in the 


12 


177 


DANIEL BOONE 


most effective condition attainable to resist attack. 
The line of palisades had been made entire, new 
gates had been erected, the blockhouses strength- 
ened, double bastions constructed, provisions laid in, 
and cattle collected. Just before the termination 
of the task, one of the captives from Chillicothe, 
who had contrived to escape shortly after Boone 
left, arrived at the fort. From him it was learned 
that the war-party, disconcerted by Boone’s escape, 
had postponed its departure for three weeks, and 
meanwhile had sent to Detroit for a reinforcement 
of whites. The latter news was alarming, but it was 
offset by the consideration that the delay greatly 
increased the chance of the hoped-for aid from the 
Holston arriving in time. 

Boone now determined to adopt Clark’s tactics 
of carrying the war into Africa.” He thought 
that by arousing the apprehensions of the Indians 
for the safety of their own towns, he might succeed 
in diverting the impending attack against Boones- 
borough, or at least in inducing the leaders of the 
expedition to detach a portion of their strength for 
the defence of their country. With this idea, then, 
he took nineteen men and started on a rapid march 
for an Indian village on Paint Creek, a branch of 
178 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


the Scioto. Hardy, who was now a full-fledged 
‘‘ gun,'’ made one of the party. 

On the way frequent traces were discovered that 
indicated that small parties of Indian scouts were 
abroad in Kentucky, and pointed to unusual prepara- , 
tion for the ensuing expedition. When within four \ 
miles of their objective point, Boone’s band suddenly ; 
fell in with a force of thirty warriors on the way to j 
Kentucky. The two bodies had approached closely j 
before either discovered the presence of the other, | 
but immediately they did so the men on both sides ' 
sprang behind trees and a typical backwoods fight 1 
followed. i 

These guerilla combats always took the form of j 
so many independent duels, each individual acting | 
upon his own responsibility and without direction. 
Every man singled out an adversary and awaited 
an opportunity to get a shot at some exposed part of 
his body. Frequent ruses, such as poking a cap 
out upon the end of a ramrod, were employed to 
induce an enemy to show himself. The Indians 
almost invariably defeated regular troops in this 
kind of skirmishing. The latter adhered to their 
accustomed tactics of charging in close order and 
fell easy victims to the active savages. On the 


179 


DANIEL BOONE 


other hand, the backwoodsmen were greatly the 
superior of the redskins in fighting from cover. 
Such men as Boone possessed all the cunning and 
dogged patience of the Indian, whilst vastly excell- 
ing him in marksmanship. 

In such a case as the present, where the disparity 
in numbers was not overwhelming, the ultimate issue 
was a foregone conclusion. After two or three 
hours of conflict the Indians took advantage of the 
growing dusk to withdraw, abandoning their horses 
and baggage. What their loss in killed and 
wounded was had to be left, as usual, to conjecture. 
The settlers escaped without any casualties. Imme- 
diately after this affair Boone learned, to his dismay, 
that the war-party from Chillicothe had already set 
out and was now between him and Boonesborough. 

Boone now started for the settlement with all 
possible speed, his front and flanks guarded by 
scouts feeling for the large body of Indians which 
he was striving to overtake. On the third day the 
Indians were reported to be but a few miles away 
and immediately in the course of the returning set- 
tlers. Boone now made a detour and redoubled his 
speed. The army of warriors was successfully 
passed and left behind. The raiders entered 

i8o 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


Boonesborough, after their three hundred miles’ 
march, in time to allow the oecupants of the fort 
nearly twenty-four hours’ time for preparation. 

The following day the Indian force made its 
appearance. It consisted of about four hundred 
warriors, for the most part Shawnees, but including 
Wyandots, Miamis and Delawares. They were 
under the command of Blackfish, Boone’s adoptive 
father. Accompanying the Indians was a small 
body of French-Canadians led by Captain de 
Quindre, of the Detroit militia. This formidable 
battalion marched to within a few hundred yards of 
the stockade and sent forward a white flag with a 
demand upon the garrison to surrender the fort in 
the name of his Britannic Majesty.” 

There were at Boonesborough fewer than seventy 
males capable of bearing arms, and a number of 
women and children. Whilst the defences were in 
good condition and a plentiful supply of ammuni- 
tion was on hand, the settlers were not fully pre- 
pared to resist a protracted siege, such as the present 
situation promised. There was far from a suf- 
ficiency of water stored, and the cattle, which was 
collected at the time of the first alarm, had been 
permitted to return to the woods. In fact, a party 

i8i 


DANIEL BOONE 


that had been sent out the previous day to round 
up and bring in some beeves had not yet returned to 
the stockade. 

Despite these drawbacks and the apparent hope- 
lessness of resistance, Boone did not for an instant 
entertain the idea of capitulating. Nor did he can- 
vass the opinions of his men, but took it for granted 
that they were of the same mind as himself. In 
answer to the summons, however, he declared that 
the garrison needed time for consideration, and so 
sure of ultimate success were the assailants that they 
granted two days’ respite from hostilities. This 
intermission was employed by the settlers in filling 
all their water-vessels and in getting the party with 
the cattle safely within the walls. 

At the termination of the truce De Quindre ap- 
proached the fort for the purpose of receiving the 
answer of the defenders. Boone had devised a ru^ 
to deceive the Canadian as to the number of men in 
the place. When De Quindre neared the gate, which 
was thrown open that he and Boone, with their 
escorts, might meet just outside of it, the officers 
perceived seventy backwoodsmen grouped in the 
foreground, whilst standing about in other distant 
parts of the square were some thirty more '' buck- 
182 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


skins.” The latter, however, were women and girls 
dressed in the clothing of their husbands and 
fathers. 

To the amazement of Captain De Quindre, Boone 
announced the determination of the garrison to de- 
fend the post, at the same time thanking the enemy 
for the time allowed the defenders for the comple- 
tion of their preparations. De Quindre was cha- 
grined to realize that he had been tricked but did not 
evince any resentment and, after a brief consulta- 
tion with Blackfish, returned to Boone with a fresh 
proposition. He declared that the attacking party 
was not in the least desirous of resorting to severity, 
and that if Boone and a few of the other leading 
men in the fort would meet the Indian chiefs on the 
following day, a treaty could be effected upon the 
most advantageous terms to the settlers. 

Boone was quite satisfied that some deception 
was intended by this proposition, but he readily 
acceded to it because every day’s delay improved 
the prospect of relief arriving from the Holston. 
It was agreed that Boone and eight of his men 
should go out to a spot about eighty yards from the 
fort and there confer with a delegation from the 
Indian camp, both parties to be absolutely unarmed. 

183 


DANIEL BOONE 


The truce was to be extended to the termination of 
this conference. 

The commissioners met as agreed but instead of 
an equal number of Indians, Blackfish appeared at- 
tended by eighteen warriors, so that there were two 
Indians to each white man. Boone took no notice 
of this early indication of treachery, for he had 
posted twenty guns in concealment behind the pali- 
sades ready for an emergency. A table with writ- 
ing materials had been brought out, that any agree- 
ment which might be arrived at could be inscribed 
and signed. 

Blackfish opened the proceedings with a speech 
in which he pretended to be moved almost to the 
point of tears. He professed to be heartbroken 
at the desertion of his son Sheltowee, and re- 
proached him with ingratitude in leaving the In- 
dians after their kind treatment of him. To this 
Boone replied that it was but natural that he should 
cleave to his own people. That he had been allowed 
no voice in the adoption, and could not justly have 
been expected to observe it. That he was truly 
grateful to Blackfish and his tribe for their gentle 
treatment of him and would wish for nothing better 
than to be on friendly terms with them. But if they 
184 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


persisted upon attacking the whites, he, Boone, 
would fight them to the bitter end. 

This point having been disposed of, they pro- 
ceeded to the question of the treaty. On the single 
condition of the settlers owning allegiance to the 
King of Great Britain, the Indian chiefs promised 
to withdraw: to their own country and to leave them 
in peaceful possession of Boonesborough and their 
property. They did not demand hostages, nor any 
other pledge of sincerity. The signatures of Boone 
and his eight companions to a brief agreement em- 
bodying the conditions on both sides would be suf- 
ficient to secure the retirement of the Indians from 
Kentucky and the avoidance of future hostilities. 

This absurdly liberal proposition bore all the ear- 
marks of a subterfuge. Boone knew full well that 
these Indians had not been at the trouble of coming 
fifty leagues for the sole purpose of inducing the 
allegiance of a band of backwoodsmen to the King 
of Great Britain. He felt sure that the proposed 
treaty would be preliminary to some contemplated 
treachery, and that it would be shortly followed by 
some act rendering it null and void. He had, there- 
fore, little hesitancy about signing it; and, more- 
185 


DANIEL BOONE 


over, he wished to play the game to a stage where its 
object would become apparent. 

Boone, therefore, expressed himself as highly 
gratified at the liberal terms offered and willing to 
accept them. The agreement was accordingly 
drawn up and signed by Boone and the eight men 
accompanying him, as well as by Blackfish, the other 
Indians, and De Quindre. Blackfish now appeared 
to be overjoyed at the happy termination of the 
affair and suggested that the amicable understanding 
should be signalized by an old Indian ceremony 
indicative of friendship. This required that each 
hand of every one of the whites should be grasped 
and shaken by an Indian in token of good faith. 

Boone perceived the trap involved in this artifice 
but he was determined that the Indians should have 
no excuse for the treachery which they clearly con- 
templated. He agreed to the proposal and two of 
the redskins advanced on each of the whites and 
seized his hands and arms. At the same instant, 
Blackfish shouted : ‘‘ Go ! ” and his followers at- 
tempted to drag the settlers away. But this was 
not so easy a task as they had imagined that it would 
be. A desperate struggle ensued. Boone, Kenton, 
Montgomery, and Buchanan quickly threw off their 


i86 


DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 


assailants and felled them with their fists. They 
then turned to the assistance of others less strong 
than themselves. At the same time the rifles in the 
stockade began to crack and the Indians broke away 
and fled to cover. 

The affair of the treaty had ended as Boone ex- 
pected from the first that it would, but it was not 
without good results to the defenders. They had 
gained one more day and so increased the likelihood 
of succor. But better still, whilst the parley was 
in progress a little band of five men from Logan’s 
had entered the fort and among them Stephen Han- 
cock, one of the best riflemen in Kentucky. 

Boone now proceeded without a moment’s delay 
to assign the men to their several posts in antici- 
pation of the attack which he felt sure would not 
now long be delayed. Women were also detailed 
for specific duties at certain points, some to supply 
food and water to the men, others to load guns, and 
not a few, in the last resort, to man port-holes. 


XIII. 

BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 




The night attack upon the stockade — “ Not a shot, miniJ> 
TILL I FIRE, AND THEN LET THEM HAVE IT ” — ThE INDIANS 
ARE REPULSED BUT COME AGAIN WITH FIREBRANDS — ThEY 
SET FIRE TO A CABIN — HaRDY’s BRAVE FIGHT WITH THE 
FLAMES — “That was well done, son, — ^very well done” 
— The savages are beaten off after fierce fighting — A 

RENEGADE NEGRO SNIPES THE SETTLERS FROM A TREE-TOP — 

Boone puts a bullet through his brain at long range — 
The Indians attempt to undermine the fort — The 

SCHEME IS FRUSTRATED AND THEY RAISE THE SIEGE — BoONE 
GOES AFTER HIS FAMILY. 

Fortunately for the brave hearts at Boones- 
borough, the summer nights afforded but brief 
cover of darkness. In fact, at the time of the siege 
a bright moon shone during the early hours and 
only for a short space before dawn was it possible 
for a man to approach within thirty or forty yards 
of the palisades without detection. Nevertheless, 
serious determined night attacks by the entire Indian 
force could hardly have failed to overwhelm the 
little garrison in time. During that dangerous 
period Boone required every man to be alert at his 

i88 


BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 


post. At other times of the night sentries were 
placed, but those off immediate duty slept with their 
rifles ready to the hand and within a few feet of the 
port-holes they were required to command. Boone 
never closed his eyes between suns whilst the siege 
lasted but passed his time on the lookout and in 
visiting his sentries. For rest he depended upon 
snatches of sleep in the daytime when favorable 
opportunities occurred. Very few hours sufficed to 
recuperate him after the hardest day. 

The night succeeding the fiasco of the treaty was 
wearing towards its close. It was the hour preced- 
ing dawn, when all nature seems to be silently 
crouching for the spring into the life of a new day. 
Boone stood at the port-hole of the upper story of 
one of the blockhouses, the cool breeze from the 
west fanning his brow. A sigh escaped him as he 
thought of the many lives that had been sacrificed 
for the possession of '' the dark and bloody ground ’’ 
of Kentucky, and the many more that would be de- 
manded. For Boone was a fighter of necessity, not 
from choice. Action was the very spice of life to 
him and he loved the stress of conflict, as every 
strong man must, but he found no pleasure in 
bloodshed. Boone killed as a measure of self- 
189 


DANIEL BOONE 


preservation and for the protection of others. Al- 
though he was moved as much as any man to sorrow 
and indignation at the thought of the women and 
children barbarously murdered or carried to a cruel 
captivity, he never allowed vengeful passion to sway 
him. And the stem, cool temper in which he met 
the foe made him the more terrible and dangerous 
antagonist. Such he looked now, his mind having 
passed on to the thought that, no matter what the 
cost, Kentucky must and should be held by the 
people who were willing to convert its wilderness 
into fair fields and rich pastures. 

From time to time the tireless watcher moved 
from a port-hole and stepped noiselessly to another, 
commanding a different direction. The ordinary 
man could with difficulty have discerned an object 
upon the ground immediately below Boone’s posi- 
tion, but the keen eyes of the hunter, accustomed 
to the gloom of the forest, penetrated the darkness 
to at least the distance of fifty yards. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by the hoot of 
an owl. Boone listened intently. In a few seconds 
the cry was repeated, as though by a bird at some 
distance from the first. Boone stretched forth his 
foot and touched the form of a sleeper upon the 


190 


BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 


floor. In an instant Kenton was on his feet, and 
at the same moment the owl’s cry again floated over 
the night air to them. 

Injuns on the move, Kenton,” said Boone in 
low tones and without a trace of excitement in his 
voice. Give Hardy a jolt. Now you two slip 
round the stockade in opposite directions. Have 
every man stand to his post as quietly as possible 
and wait for the signal from me. Not a shot, mind, 
till I fire, and then let them have it. Quick! 
They’re in the clearing already, if I’m not mis- 
taken.” 

When Kenton and Hardy had disappeared down 
the ladder, Boone took up his rifle and ran his hand 
over the flint-lock. Satisfied that it was ready for 
service, he stood it against the wall by his side and 
peered out of the port-hole. Hardly more than five 
minutes had elapsed when he imagined that he dis- 
cerned a dark wall moving towards him. A minute 
later he was certain. The Indians were about 
eighty yards away and stealing forward as noise- 
lessly as shadows. Without removing his eyes 
from the advancing foe, Boone slowly brought his 
rifle into position and dropped his right cheek upon 


DANIEL BOONE 


the stock. When he judged the line of redskins 
to be fifty yards distant he pressed the trigger. 

Boone’s signal shot had hardly sounded when 
seventy reports rang out almost in a volley. The 
Indians checked in surprise. Then with a yell they 
rushed forward, and again seventy trusty guns spoke 
with tongues of fire. Still the redskins came on, 
discharging their pieces as they ran. They were 
within a few paces of the stockade — some, indeed, 
had reached it — when once more the defenders fired 
into their ranks. Had they pushed the assault the 
savages might have carried the fort with their 
tomahawks, but they checked again and then fell 
back to reload. 

Then occurred one of those strange lulls that com- 
monly happen in fights and even in battles. No 
movement was detectable on either side and com- 
parative silence prevailed. Suddenly Kenton’s voice 
was heard serenely singing the lines of a popular 
ballad of the time : 

“If they hang poor Paddy for a thing like that, 
Whatever will they do with me ? ” 

“ That fellow will sing going to his own funeral,” 
muttered Boone, but he was pleased to hear the 


192 


BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 


cheery laugh that ran round the stockade in response 
to Kenton's song. 

Anon the chiefs were heard exhorting their tribes- 
men to renewed efforts, and soon it was seen that 
they had kindled a fire. This was far enough back 
to be out of effective range from the fort. As soon 
as the flames sprang up, a long line of the redskins 
filed past the fire and each one of them ignited a 
resin-soakedtorclj*. The defenders instantly divined 
the purport of this movement, and realized that they 
were about to be subjected to one of the most 
dreaded forms of attack. When employed deter- 
minedly, fire was the most effective auxiliary the 
Indians could enlist. Even though they failed to 
burn a breach in the defences, they gained the ad- 
vantage of drawing a number of riflemen from the 
firing line to the task of fighting the flames. 

The garrison had enjoyed but a brief respite when 
the Indians were again upon them. Just as the first 
gray tints of dawn appeared in the sky, and before 
Kenton had finished the third verse of his lyric, the 
ranks of dusky warriors began to advance in a wide 
crescent formation calculated to envelop three sides 
of the stockade. Interspersed through their line 
were some thirty or forty torch-bearers, who im- 


13 


193 


DANIEL BOONE 


mediately became the marks of the riflemen. Many 
of the savages carried bundles of sticks and grass 
to be laid against the walls of the cabins and block- 
houses and lighted. Boone was now in the square, 
where he could best direct operations against this 
new form of attack. 

When they had come within one hundred yards 
of the palisades the Indians rushed forward with the 
most unearthly yells and whoops. The efforts of 
the defenders were chiefly directed towards prevent- 
ing the men bearing torches and combustibles from 
approaching near enough to lay the latter or to 
throw the former on the roofs of the buildings. 
At the same time the horde of howling redskins 
had to be held back. Fierce fighting followed along 
every side of the stockade. Every man strove and 
strained for dear life. The women worked hard, 
loading spare rifles, of which there were fortunately 
a considerable number in hand. Here and there an 
Indian gained the top of the palisade, when a hand- 
to-hand struggle with tomahawks ensued. The din 
of musketry, the cries of the combatants, the howl- 
ing of dogs, and the bellowing of cattle, created a 
veritable pandemonium. 

Presently it was discovered that the roof of one 


194 


BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 


of the cabins had ignited and was burning fiercely. 
Kenton and Hardy were the first at the spot. 

“ Give me a boost up, Hardy,” cried Kenton, 
standing with his face to the building and arms up- 
lifted. Instead, Hardy took a flying leap upon his 
friend’s back and grasped the eaves of the cabin. 

Come off that ! ” shouted Kenton, trying to seize 
Hardy by the leg, but the youngster wriggled out of 
reach and gained a footing on the roof. 

How’s that for impudence, Captain? ” said Ken- 
ton to Boone, who was now beside him. “ Order 
him down, won’t you ? ” 

I’m all right. Dad! Hurry up the buckets!” 
shouted Hardy. 

Boone loved the lad more than he had realized 
until he saw him in his present extremely perilous 
position. For an instant Boone hesitated, but only 
for an instant, before he answered the scout : 

'' Let him be, Kenton. He’s playing a man’s part 
and we haven’t the right to baulk him. Not 
water ! ” he cried to the women, who now arrived 
with several buckets of the fluid. “ Not water ! 
We shall need every drop we have. We must make 
sand serve, if it will. Hurry with some empty 
buckets.” 


195 


DANIEL BOONE 


In the meanwhile, Hardy had sense enough not to 
expose himself unnecessarily but lay prone along 
the edge of the roof. In a few minutes half a dozen 
women were digging energetically in the sandy soil 
of the square and filling the buckets, which Boone 
and Kenton handed up to Hardy, The lad was now 
obliged to stand, and immediately his form, clearly 
outlined in the lurid light, became the target for 
a hundred rifles. A frontiersman would have 
brought him down in a minute, and although the 
Indians were poor shots, it was a miracle that he 
lived through the fusillade that they directed 
against him. At one time he felt a sudden stinging 
sensation in his right thigh and looked down to see 
if an ember had burned through his leggings. A 
little later, a hot iron seemed to sear his cheek, and 
when he put his hand to the place it came away cov- 
ered with blood. 

In hardly more than five minutes after the buckets 
began to come up Hardy had the fire out, and, shout- 
ing a warning to those below, dropped upon his 
stomach and slid off the roof into the arms of 
Kenton. 

That was well done, son, — very well done,’’ 
said Boone. Now back to your post. The Injuns 
196 


BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 


will draw off at daybreak, but they may come strong 
once again before that.” 

The fire which Hardy had extinguished was the 
only one that got well under way, and the failure 
in that case seemed to discourage the Indians. The 
attack slackened perceptibly and soon they withdrew, 
carrying away their dead and wounded. When the 
defenders checked up their casualties it was found 
that only two men had been killed outright. A 
number had received more or less severe injuries, 
and among these was Hardy. His clothing had 
been pierced in four places. His hurts were slight. 
They consisted of a flesh wound in the thigh and 
an abrased cheek, and though the former incapaci- 
tated him during the remainder of the siege, it soon 
healed. 

This attack, in which they lost heavily, thoroughly 
disheartened the Indians. The siege was main- 
tained for nine days longer with almost constant 
fighting, but no such assault as that of the first 
night was again attempted. Ocasionally small par- 
ties endeavored to set fires against the walls under 
cover of darkness, but they always found that a 
vigilant watch was maintained and no redskin could 


197 


DANIEL BOONE 


approach within a hundred yards of the fort except 
at the peril of his life. 

During the day, the besiegers kept up a constant 
fire against the stockade, but did little damage. 
They wasted an enormous amount of ammunition, 
for after their departure the garrison gathered up 
over two thousand pounds of musket-balls in the 
vicinity, not to mention the number that were em- 
bedded in the walls of the stockade. The settlers, 
on the other hand, husbanded their resources and 
fired only when there was a good chance of doing 
execution. Men stood to the port-holes constantly, 
and an Indian could not show himself in the clearing 
during daylight but he immediately became the 
target of some sharpshooter. 

A negro had escaped from the fort during the 
parley that preceded the attack which has been de- 
scribed, carrying with him a rifle and ammunition. 
This man took up his station in a tree, at a distance 
which he considered safe to himself but which 
rendered his fire practically harmless. He spent 
several days in shooting at the occupants of the 
stockade, but little attention was paid to him until 
one of his nearly spent bullets hit a woman on the 
hip, causing a painful contusion. Then some of the 
198 


BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 


men tried to dislodge him. They had expended 
half a dozen or more charges without effect when 
Boone sauntered up to them. 

“ I’m afraid you’re using up a lot of good powder 
and shot needlessly, Aiken,” Boone said to one just 
about to aim. 

“ We’re trying to get the range. Captain,” replied 
the man. 

“ Well, let me see if I can get it for you.” 

The head of the negro was presently seen as he 
peered out from between two forking branches of 
the tree. Boone’s eye ran over the ground in a cal- 
culation of the distance. Then he rested his rifle on 
a post and took a long, steady aim. There was a 
whip-like crack, and the body of the negro came 
hurtling to the ground. Afterwards it was found 
with a ball in the skull, the shot having been made at 
one hundred and seventy-five yards. The Indians 
who buried, or carried away, their own dead, would 
not touch the body of the negro. 

The siege had continued for five or six days when 
Boone, from his lookout in the upper story of a 
blockhouse, noticed one morning that the water be- 
low the fort was muddy whilst that above ran clear 
as usual. The bank was high and nothing could 


199 


DANIEL BOONE 


be seen to account for the strange condition. Boone 
watched for several hours, during which time the 
phenomenon continued, and came to the conclusion 
that the Indians, directed by their white allies, were 
endeavoring to enter the fort by mining. 

Having calculated with sufficient precision the 
direction of the tunnel under construction by the 
besiegers, Boone began counter-operations. He set 
men to work digging an underground passage from 
within the stockade. The earth that was excavated, 
he ordered to be thrown over the palisade as an inti- 
mation to the attackers of what he was about. This 
had the desired effect. The Indians realized that 
they were baulked, and on the following day aban- 
doned their project. 

On the twentieth day of August the discomfited 
chiefs, Blackfish and De Quindre, withdrew their 
forces and took the route to the Indian country. 
They left with a very wholesome opinion of the 
prowess of the backwoodsmen, and of the people of 
Boonesborough in particular. In fact, that place 
was never again directly attacked by the Indians, 
who seemed to accept the idea that it was impreg- 
nable. 

The settlers were now justified in the belief that 


200 


BOONESBOROUGH IS BESIEGED 


they would be left in peace for some months at least. 
Small bodies of marauding redskins might molest 
isolated individuals and families, but after such a 
crushing defeat as they had experienced the chiefs 
would not be willing to plant the war-post again 
for some time. Gladly the backwoodsmen, who de- 
tested confinement, went out to their clearings. 
There they found things in a sorry state. The In- 
dians had burned the cabins, killed the cattle, and 
destroyed the growing crops. But these incidents 
the hardy frontiersmen accepted as part of the neces- 
sary conditions of their adventurous lives, and they 
set cheerfully about repairing the damage. 

Shortly after the siege the trial by court-martial, 
from which Boone emerged so triumphantly, took 
place. At its conclusion he set out alone upon the 
long journey to the Yadkin, with a view to bringing 
his family back to Kentucky. We may imagine the 
joy of the wife and children upon being reunited 
to the beloved one whom they had mourned as dead. 


XIV. 

KENTON’S STORY 


Simon Kenton’s boyhood — His fight for a sweetheart— 
His defeat and his victory — Flight into the wilder- 
ness — Three adventures in Kentucky — Attack by the 
Indians and the death of Strader — A terrible journey 

AND A TIMELY RESCUE — KeNTON IS CAPTURED BY THE 

Indians — He is tortured and made to run the gauntlet 
— He is sentenced to be burned at the stake — Girty 
SAVES his old comrade’s LIFE — KeNTON IS SENT TO LoGAN’s 
VILLAGE AND BEFRIENDED BY THE GREAT CHIEF — AgAIN HE 
IS DOOMED TO DEATH BY TORTURE — AnD FINDS A NEW FRIEND 

IN A British agent — He goes to Detroit a prisoner of 
WAR — Escapes with the aid of a trader’s wife — And 

AT LAST FINDS HIMSELF SAFE IN KENTUCKY. 

During Boone’s captivity Hardy had attached 
himself to Kenton, and when the former went upon 
his journey to North Carolina these two became 
inseparable companions. Neither had any work to 
do at Boonesborough. Hardy was too young to 
take up land and Kenton lacked the desire to do so. 
His occupation was scouting. When Indians were 
in the country he went out and watched their move- 


202 


KENTON’S STORY 


ments, warning the settlements of impending attack. 
When an expedition into the Indian territory was 
contemplated, he went in advance and ascertained 
the state of the intervening country and the condi- 
tion of the town against which the movement was 
directed. He preceded armed bodies on the march 
and guarded them against surprise and ambush. 
He conducted settlers from one point to another and 
performed many other services of a similar nature. 
Kenton was one of a number of scouts whose names 
are perpetuated in the stories of border adventure. 
The vocation demanded qualities of the highest 
order. In order to follow it with success, a man 
needed to be fearless, vigorous, a good shot, a master 
of woodcraft ; to be familiar with the country over 
which his operations extended, and to have a thor- 
ough knowledge of the Indian character and cus- 
toms. The scouts were regularly attached to the 
militar}^ establishment, received pay from the au- 
thorities, and were amenable to their orders. The 
militia officers frequently took counsel with them 
and sometimes entrusted to them important details 
in the arrangement of an expedition. The calling 
of scout was a highly responsible and honorable one. 

After the Indians retired from Boonesborough 


203 


DANIEL BOONE 


Kenton trailed them back to their own country, and 
returned to report that they had dispersed to their 
several villages and would probably not be heard 
from again until after the winter. When Boone 
went away Kenton and Hardy started upon a long 
hunt and scout in the country lying south of the 
Ohio. Now and again they crossed the river and 
made short excursions into the region inhabited 
by the redskins. November was drawing to a close 
when they reappeared at Boonesborough. 

The two friends took up their abode in Boone’s 
cabin for the winter. In the long nights, when the 
wind whistled around the walls and the wolves 
howled in the neighboring forest, they sat for hours 
before the great log fire and exchanged experiences. 
The scout was glad to learn what Hardy could tell 
of life in England, and in turn told the story of his 
adventures. It was a wonderful tale, considering 
that Kenton was but twenty-three years of age in 
this year 1778. It was related piecemeal and at 
many sittings, so that we must be content with a 
brief resume of it. 

Simon Kenton was a born backwoodsman. He 
first saw the light of day in a little cabin on the 
borders of Virginia. His boyhood was that com- 


204 


KENTON’S STORY 


mon to frontier children — a little schooling, a good 
deal of hard work, and a fair admixture of adven- 
ture. When only sixteen years old he was attracted 
by the charms of a young girl in the settlement. 
This aroused the resentment of a youth several years 
older than Kenton, who imagined that he had en- 
gaged the affections of the backwoods maiden, al- 
though she would not admit as much. As Kenton 
declined to abandon his suit, the rivals determined 
to settle the matter by one of the fist fights that were 
not uncommon incidents of border life. 

The encounter took place in the presence of the 
assembled settlers, as was usual. Kenton made a 
plucky stand, but in the end was beaten by the man, 
who had immeasurably the advantage of him in 
physical development. He accepted his defeat 
cheerfully but a year later, when he had grown into 
a muscular giant of six feet, he challenged his for- 
mer antagonist to try conclusions once more. The 
other was a powerful man and readily accepted the 
cartel. 

These backwoods fights were often terrible 
affairs. Everything short of the use of weapons 
was permissible, and the participants were frequently 
seriously injured. In this instance, the former vic- 


205 


DANIEL BOONE 


tor was fired by intense hatred for Kenton, who 
was determined on this occasion to win. The con- 
flict which ensued was terrifically fierce. At first 
the younger man got the worst of it and was severely 
hurt, but his courage continued unabated. He re- 
newed the struggle, and in the end so beat his 
antagonist that he lay unconscious. 

Kenton looked down at the prostrate form in hor- 
ror, fully believing it to be that of a dead man. 
Then he turned and fled with all the speed possible, 
stopping only to snatch up his rifle and ammunition 
from the stump upon which they lay. So convinced 
was he that the sheriff with a posse would shortly 
be in pursuit of him that he continued his flight with 
little cessation for two days. 

On the third day Kenton, still apprehensive and 
downcast, was traversing the forest in an unsettled 
part of the country when his eye was suddenly glad- 
dened by the sight of a man upon the trail ahead of 
him. The stranger proved to be a wanderer named 
Johnson, as homeless and as careless of his destina- 
tion as was Kenton. Each man was glad of the 
prospect of company and after a brief comparison 
of notes they agreed to become partners, as they 
say in the West. 


206 


KENTON’S STORY 


These two travelled in company for some weeks 
and until they reached a settlement on the Mononga-^ 
hela, where Kenton decided to stop. This decision 
was prompted by learning that two young men at 
the place, named Strader and Yager, contemplated 
a journey into Kentucky and were willing that he 
should join them. The three set out shortly after- 
wards and for a year or more they lived in the 
wilderness, hunting and trapping, and selling their 
peltries to traders at Fort Pitt. 

They had not been troubled by Indians, and had 
come to consider themselves safe from their attacks. 
Of this belief, however, the}’^ were rudely disabused 
one evening in March, 1773. As they sat in their 

open-face ” cabin, utterly unmindful of danger, a 
volley was suddenly fired at them from the surround- 
ing thicket. Strader, who was the most exposed, 
instantly fell dead, riddled with bullets. The other 
two leaped to their feet and dashed into the neigh- 
boring cover without even taking time to pick up 
their rifles. 

The dusk and heavy undergrowth aided their 
escape and they were soon beyond the reach of their 
pursuers. But, though the immediate prospect of 
death had been averted, these men found themselves 


207 


DANIEL BOONE 


in the most perilous situation. The onslaught had 
happened at a time when their belts and weapons 
were laid aside. They had now nothing with which 
to defend themselves against the possible attacks of 
Indians or wild beasts. They lacked provisions and 
blankets, and had not even a tinder-box with which 
to make a fire. 

They did not, however, abandon themselves to 
despair, but struck out in the direction of the Ohio, 
hoping to reach a settlement before their strength 
should give out. For days they subsisted upon roots 
and the bark of trees, and at night huddled together 
in the brush with shaking limbs, for the weather 
was unusually cold. Gradually weakness stole upon 
them and on the third day both were seized with 
violent cramps and nausea, probably in consequence 
of having swallowed some poisonous substance. 
Before the close of the fourth day they fell ex- 
hausted to the ground and for the first time de- 
spaired of going farther, but with the dawn of the 
morrow their strength and spirits were sufficiently 
revived to enable them to make another effort. 
With slow and trembling steps they painfully pur- 
sued the way and in a few hours’ time came upon a 
party of traders. 


208 


KENTON’S STORY 


This experience decided Yager to return to civil- 
ization, but Kenton, as soon as he had recovered 
his strength and had secured a rifle and ammuni- 
tion, bade the party farewell and plunged again into 
the recesses of the wilderness. The next year he 
spent, for the most part alone, hunting and explor- 
ing the country. In the spring, Dunmore’s War 
broke out and Kenton performed valuable services 
as a scout, this being his first employment in that 
capacity. It was during this campaign that he be- 
came acquainted with Simon Girty, the notorious 
renegade, and rendered him a signal service. Girty 
professed the greatest friendship for Kenton and 
his after conduct proved the sincerity of his declara- 
tion. 

Upon his return from a reconnoissance in the 
Indian country, Kenton, when about to cross the 
Ohio into Kentucky, was captured by a band that 
had suffered recent defeat by the whites and was 
consequently in a ferocious mood. Their temper 
was not improved by the severe injuries that the 
scout inflicted on some of their number before he 
could be subdued. Few men on the frontier could 
command the cool common-sense that unfailingly 
characterized Boone in a critical situation. He 


14 


209 


DANIEL BOONE 


would fight against the heaviest odds whilst any 
hope of success existed, but once convinced of the 
futility of resistance, he avoided creating unneces- 
sary rancor by continuing it. Kenton on this occa- 
sion fought like a catamount and so aroused the 
resentment of his assailants that when they had dis- 
armed him they continued to lay on their clubs and 
tomahawks until he lapsed into unconsciousness. 

When the scout came to his senses, he found him- 
self ‘‘ spread-eagled,” face downwards upon the 
earth. His arms and legs had been extended and 
pegged down so that the body lay in the form of a 
Maltese cross. The position did not permit of any 
movement save that of slightly raising the head. 
As time wore on the body became filled with excru- 
ciating pains and Kenton passed the night in intense 
suffering. He did not doubt that he was reserved 
for worse tortures. Otherwise the Indians would 
have vented their anger by killing him. 

In the morning the party took up the march after 
strapping Kenton along the bare back of an un- 
broken horse. All day his limbs were racked by 
the fresh pains of this cruel mode of progression, 
and at night he was crucified as before. This 
march, with its unceasingly attendant agonies, con- 


210 


KENTON’S STORY 


tinned for three days and nights. On the fourth 
the Indians arrived at the village of Chillicothe. By 
this time Kenton would have welcomed death, but he 
was to endure much more. 

After his captors had refreshed themselves with 
food and rest, the entire population of the place 
assembled in the great square and Kenton was led 
forth to afford amusement for them. After he had 
been subjected to the jibes and floutings of the chil- 
dren and squaws, he was bound to a post and flogged 
upon the bare back with switches until the blood 
flowed copiously. Meanwhile the redskins danced 
around him, howling with demoniac delight. But 
they tired of this pastime when it was found impos- 
sible to extract a cry of pain from the victim. 

Kenton was now led to the stake, stripped of his 
clothing and bound with hands extended above his 
head. Faggots were heaped about his feet and all 
the preparations completed for burning him. At 
this juncture the Indians seemed to waver in their 
purpose. The chief men withdrew, leaving the 
scout to the spiteful persecution of the villagers, 
who found a fiendish pleasure in pulling his hair, 
pricking him with knives, and beating him with 
sticks and clubs. This continued until nightfall, 

2II 


DANIEL BOONE 


when Kenton was released from his bonds and re- 
moved under a strong guard to one of the wigwams. 

The next morning he realized why he had been 
spared from the flames on the previous day. The 
chiefs had declared that it would be a pity to dispose 
finally of so strong a man until he had been sub- 
jected to all the torture he was capable of enduring. 
He was now condemned to run the gantlet,” and 
when he emerged from the cabin in which he had 
passed the night he saw the painted warriors assem- 
bled and ready to perform their part in the affair. 

Across the square two lines of braves were drawn 
up, facing inwards, with a space of about six feet 
between them. Each was furnished with a club, 
tomahawk, or leathern thong. Kenton was required 
to traverse this lane of inhuman wretches whilst they 
rained blows upon him in passing. This cruel 
pastime of the Indians was not designed to kill the 
victim, but many a man sank dead before going 
through the ordeal and none completed it without 
receiving the most severe injuries. 

Kenton was a swift runner but as he looked down 
that double row of waiting warriors, more than one 
hundred yards in length, he determined not to at- 
tempt its entire passage. When he started at the 


212 


KENTON’S STORY 


utmost speed he could command, it was with eyes 
alert for a gap in the line through which he might 
make his escape. The opportunity offered when 
he had covered about half the distance. Dashing 
through the opening, he dodged the Indians who 
attempted to intercept him and took refuge in the 
council-house. Of course he was soon once more 
in the clutches of his tormentors but they did not 
force him to run the gantlet again. Instead, a 
council was held to determine his fate. After con- 
siderable discussion it was decided that he should 
be taken to a town named Waughcotomoco and 
there burned. 

Whilst preparations were in progress for the 
death of Kenton, Simon Girty, the renegade white 
man, came into Waughcotomoco with a settler’s wife 
and her children, whom he had captured. Curious 
to see the prisoner under sentence to be burned at 
the stake, he went to the wigwam where Kenton was 
confined. Great was the surprise of Girty to find his 
old companion and benefactor. Since they had last 
seen each other, Girty had forsworn his race, and 
his name had become execrated along the border as 
that of an unnatural creature devoid of pity and 
destitute of principle. 


213 


DANIEL BOONE 


Girty’s conduct on this occasion proved that he 
was not utterly abandoned, but it is the sole re- 
deeming feature of his life as we know it. With 
the utmost difficulty, he induced the chiefs to defer 
their purpose, and for three weeks Kenton was left 
unmolested. At the end of that time he was sent to 
the village of the great chief Logan, who despite the 
wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the whites, 
befriended the scout and treated him as kindly as 
possible. 

Even Logan's influence did not, however, seem 
sufficient to save Kenton from the doom with which 
the Indians appeared to be determined to visit him. 
After a short while he was sent under escort to 
Sandusky, which place had been selected as the 
scene of his death by torture. Here, when the 
sturdy scout had abandoned hope, a British agent 
named Drewyer contrived his removal to Detroit. 

At Detroit Kenton was held as a prisoner of war 
and well treated. He was required to work, but re- 
ceived half wages, the other half being applied to 
the cost of his keep. Some months were passed 
under these conditions, when Kenton and another 
Kentuckian contrived to escape with the aid of the 
wife of a trader. This woman secured and secreted 


214 


KENTON’S STORY 

on the outskirts of the town two rifles and a supply 
of ammunition. At a favorable opportunity the 
prisoners stole out of the fort, possessed themselves 
of the weapons and, after a month of travel through 
the wilderness, found themselves at last among 
friends in Kentucky. 


XV. 

THE YOUNG SCOUT 


The whites suffer ;great reverses at the hands of the 
Indians — Kenton and Hardy go on a scout to Old 
Chillicothe — The surprise and the flight — Kenton’s 

WONDERFUL LEAP AND ESCAPE — HaRDY FALLS INTO THE 
HANDS OF THE SAVAGES — ThE MIDNIGHT VISITOR TO THE 

CAMP — Hardy fears a snake and finds a frienip— The 

ESCAPE TO THE RIVER — “ I RECKON WE’VE SHAKEN YOUR 
LAST night’s friends ” — ThE JOURNEY THROUGH THE INDIAN 

COUNTRY — Hardy has some new experiences and is 
INITIATED TO THE CALLING OF THE SCOUT — ThE COMPANIONS 
ENCOUNTER DANGERS AND FEEL HUNGER — KeNTON CONTINUES 
THE EDUCATION THAT BoONE BEGAN — At LAST THEY COME 
IN SIGHT OF Chillicothe. 

During the year 1779 the settlements of Ken- 
tucky were free from attack by large bodies of In- 
dians but several fierce fights took place between 
the whites and their implacable foes. One of these 
occurred early in the spring and resulted in a fear- 
ful loss to the Kentuckians. 

Colonel Rogers, who had been down to New 
Orleans for supplies, returned by boat up the Mis- 

216 


THE YOUNG SCOUT 


sissippi and Ohio with a company of about eighty 
men. When they had reached the point where Cin- 
cinnati now stands their scouts reported a large party 
of Indians to be issuing in canoes from the mouth 
of the Little Miami, with the evident intention of 
invading Kentucky. Rogers determined to attack 
the Indians and with that view landed and marched 
his men towards the place where he judged that the 
canoes would make the shore. 

Perhaps the discovery made by the scouts diverted 
them from a proper reconnoissance of the country 
along the Kentucky side of the river. At any rate, 
a large body of Indians that had already crossed re- 
mained undiscovered. When the men under Colonel 
Rogers had taken up their position on the bank, these 
suddenly assaulted them in the rear. At the same 
time the warriors in the canoes pushed forward to 
the attack. 

The whites were completely caught in a trap and 
overwhelmingly outnumbered. The situation was 
palpably a hopeless one. It was a case in which 
every man sought his own safety without regard to 
the others. A few — less than one-fourth of the 
entire number — contrived to escape along the river 
bank before retreat was completely cut off. These 


217 


DANIEL BOONE 


regained the boats and made off down stream with 
all possible speed. The remainder fought des- 
perately but were ultimately overcome by sheer 
weight of numbers. 

Upwards of sixty men were lost in this encounter, 
which was the greatest disaster that ever befell the 
Kentucky settlers, with the exception of the battle 
of the Blue Licks, which will be described in due 
course. 

The Kentuckians, stirred by a thirst for revenge, 
determined upon a formidable expedition into the 
Indian country. Whilst this movement was in 
course of preparation Kenton was instructed to 
make a scout through Kentucky and across the 
Ohio as far as the town of Chillicothe, which was 
the contemplated point of attack. 

Kenton took Hardy with him and the two set 
out early in the month of June, burdened with noth- 
ing more than their rifles and a plentiful supply of 
ammunition. They did not follow the direct route 
but zigzagged east and west of it, so as to cover a 
wide range of territory, the object being to ascertain 
if any large parties of Indians were on the move. 
They came to within a day’s march of the Ohio with- 
out having seen any sign of a war-party, though they 
218 


THE YOUNG SCOUT 


had come upon many traces of small bands and had 
caught glimpses of them now and again. In re- 
sponse to their inclinations, as well as with regard 
to the demands of the task in which they were en- 
gaged, they avoided unnecessary encounters. Ken- 
ton, like Boone, never fought without provocation, 
and Hardy had learned his lesson from both. 

About seven days after leaving Boonesborough, 
the scouts — for Kenton treated Hardy as a full- 
fledged member of the brotherhood — camped within 
sight of the Ohio. They had eaten a venison steak 
and were sitting in the gloaming beside the dying 
embers of their fire. Suddenly Kenton sprang up, 
crying : 

“ Injuns, Hardy ! Scoot ! ” 

Each seized his rifle and they dashed into the 
thicket, side by side, as a number of rifles were dis- 
charged at them. The Indians were instantly at 
their heels. Hardy was a fast runner but Kenton 
could have easily outstripped him. However, the 
tall, lithe scout kept beside his young companion 
and with a light touch of the hand upon his back 
helped him onward. They turned on to a sloping 
stretch of a few hundred yards and raced down it 
for dear life. At the bottom Kenton glanced over 


219 


DANIEL BOONE 


his shoulder and saw that two of the pursuers were 
gaining rapidly and must soon overtake them, whilst 
six or seven more were close behind. He stopped, 
wheeled round, and fired. The nearest warrior fell 
and the other slackened his pace. Kenton ex- 
changed rifles with Hardy and they resumed their 
flight. 

Kenton realized at the outset that they were being 
pursued by a number of active young braves, and he 
felt that it was only a matter of time when they 
would be overtaken. Alone, he could have dis- 
tanced the Indians, but Hardy’s best pace was fatally 
unequal to the task. Once more Kenton stopped 
the leader in the pursuit when he was within twenty 
yards of them. Then the others, realizing that the 
white men were practically unarmed, set up a yell 
of exultation and redoubled their efforts. 

Slowly but surely the Indians gained. At length 
four of them were within a hundred feet of the flee- 
ing scouts, when Hardy caught his toe in a vine and 
fell headlong. Kenton did not check his pace, but 
on the contrary increased the speed of his flight. 
The nearest Indians, leaving the fallen youth to be 
captured by those behind, continued their career 
after Kenton. The scout began to draw away and 


220 


THE YOUNG SCOUT 


had put nearly one hundred yards between him and 
the redskins when he suddenly found himself ob- 
structed by a narrow ravine. Running his eye along 
the opening he discerned a place about two hundred 
yards to the left, where the rocky sides appeared 
to come close together. 

Kenton turned his course towards the spot where 
he hoped to be able to cross, but the change of direc- 
tion gave the pursuers an advantage, and by the 
time the scout had approached the brink they were 
within a few feet of him. Kenton went on without 
check of speed and on the edge of the ravine gath- 
ered himself together, made a mighty effort, and 
sprang into the air. He landed safely on the other 
side. 

The Indians stopped short. The leap was at least 
twenty feet, and none of them dared attempt it. 
They proceeded hastily to reload their guns, but 
before one of them was ready to fire Kenton had run 
on beyond range and they turned back to their com- 
panions. The scout, safe from pursuit, stretched 
himself at full length upon the ground and lit his 
pipe. 

Hardy had been momentarily stunned by his fall. 
As he struggled to his feet he saw Kenton’s form in 


221 


DANIEL BOONE 


mid-air, as the scout took his sensational leap. The 
next instant Hardy was felled to the ground by a 
rap on the head with a tomahawk. 

The Indians immediately crossed the river with 
their captive and camped for the night on the other 
side. Hardy was fast bound, hand and foot, with' 
buffalo thongs, and stretched in the circle which the 
warriors formed round the fire. Fortunately, he 
had eaten his evening meal, for the redskins did 
not offer him a scrap of theirs. They ate their fill, 
smoked their pipes, and then lay down to sleep. 

Hardy lay plunged in gloomy thoughts. He had 
never before been in the hands of the Indians, and 
it is no discredit to him that he was filled with fear- 
ful apprehensions. That he had not been killed 
he accepted, with reason, as an indication that his 
captors were reserving him for the torture. He 
thought with a shudder of the terrible stories of 
Kenton’s experience, which the scout had related in 
the long evenings of the previous winter. 

Hardy felt somewhat aggrieved that Kenton had 
abandoned him so readily. He was forced to con- 
fess to himself that had his friend stopped to assist 
him in all probability they would both have been cap- 
tured. Still Hardy could not divest his mind of 


222 


THE YOUNG SCOUT 


the idea that there was something savoring of de- 
sertion in Kenton’s flight whilst his companion lay 
helpless upon the ground. Somehow, the passage 
of the river seemed to Hardy to cut him off from 
hope of help and he lay for hours oppressed by 
forebodings. 

The Indians were sunk in the slumber of assured 
security and it was past midnight when Hardy be- 
came conscious that something was stirring near 
him. The movement was so slight and noiseless 
that he supposed it to be occasioned by some insect 
or reptile. Snakes were numerous in the forest and 
occasionally caused death. Hardy determined to 
investigate. 

This thing, whatever it was, seemed to be just 
behind his head. Slowly and cautiously Hardy 
turned over upon his stomach and raised his head. 
The fire had been allowed to burn low, but it still 
emitted a faint light. Hardy dimly discerned the 
form of some large creature within arm’s length 
of him. In a few moments it took the shape of a 
man. Like a flash the truth broke upon him. It 
was Kenton. 

Hardy lay still as a statue, realizing that his safety 
depended upon leaving himself entirely in the hands 


223 


DANIEL BOONE 


of his friend. Satisfied that the captive's move- 
ment had not disturbed the sleepers, Kenton re- 
sumed his wriggling progress, advancing silently 
and by inches. After what seemed to the eager 
prisoner to have been an hour, Kenton was stretched 
alongside of him. He felt the relaxation of the 
thongs about his legs and knew that they had been 
cut, though so subtle was the touch of the keen knife 
that he neither heard nor felt the bonds sever. Next 
the arms were freed, and Kenton whispered in his 
ear: 

‘‘ Get away easy, on your belly. Take your time. 
I’ll get a rifle for you and join you in a few 
moments.” 

Hardy stealthily crawled away from the camp 
until he had gained a distance of about fifty feet, 
and then he rose and awaited Kenton. The scout 
soon rejoined him carrying the arms and ammuni- 
tion of one of the savages. His own rifle had been 
left near by, and after regaining it they set out for 
the river. 

The scouts had no difficulty in reaching the bank 
of the stream, but some hours were consumed in the 
search for the two canoes in which Hardy’s recent 
friends had crossed. At length they were found. 


224 


THE YOUNG SCOUT 


and the fugitives embarked in one, cutting the other 
loose and turning it into the current. The first 
signs of dawn were appearing in the sky when 
Kenton took up the paddles and began leisurely to 
propel the craft upstream. 

For half an hour or so the friends sat in silence, 
each occupied with his thoughts. Kenton was turn- 
ing over in his mind a plan of future action. 
Hardy, since the daring rescue by Kenton, had been 
troubled with qualms of conscience. He felt 
ashamed at the doubts he had entertained of his 
friend’s loyalty. He longed to ease his mind, but 
hardly knew how to go about it. At length he said : 

“ I am afraid that I did you an injustice last 
night, Kenton. You see, when you ran off, leaving 
me lying upon the ground, I thought that you might 
— that is, it seemed to me ” 

“I see,” said Kenton, with a laugh. “You 
thought I had given you the long leg, eh ? I don’t 
wonder. Fd have stayed by you. Hardy, if it could 
have done any good. But if I had, we’d both be 
going to a hair-raising party now.” 

“ I understand,” replied Hardy, “ and I under- 
stood then. I only want you to forgive me for 
having had the least doubt about it.” 


15 


225 


TI®A>MIEL BOONE 


^ young ’un!” cried Kenton 
hand. ‘‘ Say no more about 
i^orlvj itlight'iniake shore here.” 

ot Kenton shot the canoe into 

the north bank, that is, the one from which they 
lSa?d3feiMr}^.^bfp^j[ing the puzzled expression on 
hiSft^oSfipkflidffV^ace, Kenton said: 

.ncfhWhy7i3^(&fii likveli’t forgotten that we are bound 
^Q^dCthillic^Othfe^SaYi you. Hardy? I reckon we’ve 
^b4kefth^ouP'tet>^%ht’s friends and now we’ll go 
dwhgt^i'ibuiiness. But we must hide the 
’likely to find it when we come 
bhte 3f(r#wath^6ver this morning, but we may be 
tek gfti^aWfhiiVtyf^than I was when we cross going 
t^lo nm noy 

hlTjJhfeyo^otfttd M^hat appeared to be a safe hiding 
place for the canoe and carefully marked the spot. 
fPhfo'' th^;J^ftlirn6d ffheir faces towards old Chilli- 
d(5tb(e,Iwfii^h ^^Omewhat more than two days’ 
itb/tteJ>Airth. They were now not only in 
fhedlndii’rP’^oilnttfy during the season of greatest 
travel, but passingvth rough a section of it that was 
cTfli>Qp %ft®§i!s rdfitiing in every direction. It be- 
toW^thet^fore, to proceed with the utmost 
caution. They ^ dated not light a fire, and were 
226 


THE YOUNG SCOUT 


forced to subsist upon some water-soaked parched 
corn which Kenton had in his wallet and the edible 
berries that they occasionally found in the forest. 

Hardy realized that these hardships and experi- 
ences were the best possible training for him. He 
cheerfully accepted the situation and positively re- 
fused to accept the larger portions of their scanty 
fare that Kenton pressed upon him. They had 
many a playful dispute on the subject, Hardy con- 
tending that Kenton was the bigger and therefore 
needed the more nourishment, and Kenton maintain- 
ing that his stomach was the better trained and 
consequently the better able to get along on short 
rations. Sometimes, when they were both hungry 
as wolves, they would engage in one of these argu- 
ments for half an hour, whilst the untouched corn 
and berries lay between them. 

With two such tutors as Boone and Kenton, it is 
hardly necessary to say that a bright and eager lad 
such as Hardy Goodfellow was, had by this time 
developed into a really creditable woodsman. Ken- 
ton’s method was much the same as Boone’s had 
been in the dear old hunting days in Clinch Valley. 
He let Hardy understand that he was depending 


227 


DANIEL BOONE 


upon him and only interfered to point out some 
serious oversight or failure on the part of his pupil. 

In this journey to Chillicothe they constantly 
encountered signs of Indians. Kenton required 
Hardy to decide how long a time had elapsed since 
the party passed, how many persons there were in 
it, their sexes and physical condition, whether or not 
they had carried burdens, the speed at which they 
had been going, and a score of other deductions. 
Hardy was very often at fault, but seldom a second 
time on the same point. 

Before noon of the third day they arrived within 
sight of Chillicothe, and lay hidden in the under- 
growth to await the shades of evening. 


XVI. 

THE WHITE SQUAW 




Kenton makes a reconnoissance from a tree-top — He 

STALKS A YOUNG BRAVE AND CAPTURES HIM — ThE INDIAN 
GUIDES THE SCOUTS TO MiCMACTO — WHERE THEY WATCH 
THE DANCES AND SPORTS FROM A POINT OF VANTAGE — ThE 
DISCOVERY AND THE ALARM — “ I AM A WHITE WOMAN ! FoR 

God’s sake take me with you!” — Three against hun- 
dreds — The attackers cannot pass the “dead line” — 
The white squaw proves her marksmanship — The 
escape over the precipice by night — The boldest course 
proves to be the wisest — A THREE DAYS’ RACE THROUGH 
THE FOREST — ThE OhIO IS PASSED IN SAFETY — BOONES- 
borough again. 

As the sun sank below the horizon, the scouts 
began cautiously approaching the town. They 
made a detour of a mile or so, in order to get to 
windward and avoid discovery by the Indian dogs. 
A thick grove of trees on the edge of the woods, 
and less than a hundred yards from the village, was 
the point at which Kenton aimed. They reached it 
without mishap, and selecting a large oak clambered 
into its lower branches. From this elevation, which 


229 


DANIEL BOONE 


was increased by the lay of the ground, the spies 
commanded a good view of the square and sur- 
rounding buildings of Chillicothe. 

Hardy was very eager to see the town so closely 
associated with the adventures of his two heroes. 
Here was the place in which Boone had been held 
prisoner for several weeks, and whence he had made 
his wonderful journey to Boonesbo rough in less 
than five days. It was here that Kenton had run 
the gauntlet, and there upon a mound stood the 
council-house into which he had fled. Here, too, in 
all probability, Hardy himself would now have 
been a prisoner, suffering torture and perhaps bound 
to the stake, but for his rescue by Kenton a few 
nights previous. 

To Kenton the condition of the village was an 
open book. He could tell from the character of the 
crowd about the square, from the state of the wig- 
wams, from the number of the fires and the extent 
of the cooking, and from a hundred details which 
would have seemed trivial to the ordinary observer, 
whether the town contained its usual population or 
any considerable number of warriors were absent. 
A short scrutiny satisfied him that a large proportion 
of the men were absent, as he had expected to find 


230 


THE WHITE SQJJAW 


them at this time of the year, an^ 
of the ordinary was on foot. f ysflT .lisii 
There did not seem to be anyt^iiijig ^rtl^^.^jtO|-j]j|:^^ 
learned from their post of observ^^^ji,^a]j]j^j^J^e^^p^ 
was preparing to descend when ^|jie^^^^^^|erve^^^ 


young brave leaving the village and|^saunterin^ ^i^^ 

their direction. The scouts crouched, ..still and 

ifiB sfli lo ^rio is-g 
watchful, in their leafy hiding pla(^^, wjiilst j;he In- 


dian passed almost under their tree and contmuec/ 
- . „ . , - brifi.sH . .m^ii 

his stroll into the forest. Kenton^ whispering to 
, r 11 ^ • 1 li^pnEladua lo D93fi 

Hardy to follow after an interval of a few minuteSj 

slipped noiselessly to the earth and^'^olfowea tWe 


redskin. 


fhiv/ 3*irf jfl^rl 


Hardy allowed five minutes to ^elapse ^’tiefor'e'^^ 
started after his companion. He 
the ground when he heard a ru^iffli|f Wfii&fi^he 
rightly inferred to be the sound of 
hurried forward and in a few minlff^^anf^Htj^fM 
Kenton, calmly sitting upon his 
mouth was stopped with the scout's 
quickly tied the Indian's arms to his fei€e^9n^rcr0sefj^ 
hobbled his feet. He was then huf forwiai:^ 
after being made to understand that abitfHeagrsif oife 
cry, or attempt to escape, he would be [shtstbjdeadfioR 
The party went on for six or seven 


231 


DANIEL BOONE 


which Kenton used his best endeavors to confuse the 
trail. They had struck away from the beaten paths 
and were in an unfrequented locality when they 
came upon a small stream in the midst of woods. 
Here Kenton decided to camp. He had noticed 
the spoor of deer upon the bank and proposed to 
get one of the animals at a later hour of the night 
when they should come down to drink in the moon- 
light. He and Hardy were beginning to feel the 
need of substantial food, and would require a supply 
for future use. He might discharge his gun and 
light a fire with less risk at a late hour and, more- 
over, it was not at all likely that any Indians would 
be encamped so close to the town. 

Having selected a resting place about half a mile 
from the rivulet, where he left Hardy to guard the 
prisoner, Kenton went down to the bank and lay 
in waiting for the deer. The moon had not been 
risen more than half an hour when Hardy heard 
the crack of a rifle and shortly afterwards the tall 
figure of Kenton appeared bending under the burden 
of a large buck. The animal was soon skinned and 
some choice portions were broiled. The scouts ate 
heartily and gave their captive all that he desired. 


232 


THE WHITE SQUAW 


Before lying down to sleep, they set some steaks to 
smoke. These were for future provision. 

But before seeking repose Kenton pursued the 
object with which he had captured the Indian. He 
gave the redskin to understand that his future treat- 
ment depended upon the truth with which he should 
answer the questions that would be put to him. He 
then demanded to know the whereabouts of the war- 
riors of Chillicothe, and what designs they enter- 
tained against the settlers. The prisoner replied, 
with apparent frankness, that the chief men of his 
town were at Micmacto, where a general council of 
the Shawnees was in progress. The purpose of the 
meeting was to consider the advisability of a con- 
certed attack upon the Kentucky settlements. 

Kenton instantly realized the importance of learn- 
ing, if possible, the outcome of this council. He 
determined to go on to Micmacto, which the captive 
declared was about sixteen miles to the north of 
Chillicothe, or less than a good day’s march from 
the camp. 

Under the guidance of the young brave, who ap- 
peared to be quite tractable, the scouts set out at 
daybreak and before sunset reached their destina- 
tion. Leaving Hardy and the prisoner under cover 


233 


DANIEL BOONE 


at a distance of a mile or more, Kenton went for- 
ward to reconnoitre the place. As at Chillicothe, 
from the vantage point of a tree on the outskirts 
of the village, he secured a good survey. 

Micmacto was built in much the same form as 
Chillicothe. It was not so large a town as the 
latter, but a number of abandoned cabins indicated 
that it had once contained a larger population than 
at present. The village lay in an open plain, upon 
the bank of a small river. On the north side of the 
place stood a group of high, pointed rocks, which 
quickly attracted the eye of the observant scout. 
These needle-like projections rose abruptly out of 
the plain, and from the summit of one in particular 
it was evident that a clear view of the town and the 
adjoining plain could be had. Kenton decided that 
no better post of observation could be wished. 

Kenton having rejoined Hardy and the prisoner, 
the party circled round the town and reached the 
rocky eminence upon which it was proposed to take 
up their station. It was found that whilst three 
sides of this elevation were precipitous, the summit 
might be easily gained by a sloping approach on the 
north. The top proved to be a flat space, less than 
an acre in extent, and six or seven hundred feet 


234 


THE WHITE SQUAW 


above the level of the plain. It was broken by 
crevices and strewn with bowlders, making it an 
ideal hiding place. 

The shades of night were closing over the scene 
when the scouts turned their gaze upon the village 
lying at their feet. The square was filled with 
dusky figures evidently agitated by some unusual 
occurrence. The shrill gabble of the squaws and 
the barking of dogs reached the ears of the watchers 
with startling distinctness. In front of the wig- 
wams burned domestic fires, throwing a fitful light 
upon the scene. 

Presently a huge fire was ignited in the centre 
of the square and at the same time the women and 
children retired to the line of buildings. Now a 
score of painted and befeathered warriors advanced 
to the blaze in single file and formed a circle round 
it. They began to move slowly to the time of a low, 
solemn chant . Gradually their pace quickened as 
their voices rose in faster measure. Louder and 
louder grew the song. They brandished their 
weapons and broke into the wildest antics. Mean- 
while the spectators shouted applause and beat with 
clubs upon the walls of the cabins, whilst the dogs 
added their long-drawn howls to the din. 


235 


DANIEL BOONE 


At the end of perhaps half an hour a fresh party 
of braves relieved the first performers, v^ho retired 
exhausted. In due course a third relay took up the 
dance, and so it was continued far into the night, 
finishing in a wild disorderly reel, in which many of 
the younger women took part. 

‘‘Well, at any rate it isn’t the war dance,” re- 
marked Kenton, as they composed themselves to 
sleep. “ But when they get to cutting up those 
capers, it isn’t long before they work themselves 
into a crazy fit and paint the war-post. I’m afraid 
there’s trouble brewing.” 

The next day was spent by the people of Mic- 
macto and their guests in the usual Indian sports. 
There were pony races upon the plain. There were 
shooting matches, and a sham attack upon the vil- 
lage. Several parties of young braves contested 
in the game from which we get lacrosse. Dances 
again enlivened the early hours of the night, pre- 
ceded by feasting. 

Kenton was anxious to remain until the council 
should reach a decision and break up. Their con- 
clusion would, he knew, be easily inferable from the 
character of the closing festivities. By husbanding 
their jerked venison, the scouts and their prisoner 
236 


THE WHITE SQUAW 


could contrive to subsist for tv^o more days, but an 
immediate supply of water was needed. As a matter 
of fact, it should have been secured the night be- 
fore, but so intent had they been upon watching the 
Indians that the canteens had been allowed to run 
dry unnoticed. 

As the entire population of Micmacto appeared 
to be engrossed in the pastimes taking place at the 
village, Kenton thought that he could succeed in 
reaching the river and returning without detection 
in daylight. Accordingly he started for the stream, 
taking advantage of all the cover available on the 
way. He arrived at the bank without mishap and 
was in the act of filling the canteens when a piercing 
shriek broke upon his ears. He looked up to see 
two squaws a short distance from him. One, still 
screaming, dived into the bushes and disappeared. 
The other ran towards Kenton and to his amaze- 
ment addressed him in English : 

I am a white woman,” she cried, holding up her 
hands pleadingly. For the love of God, take me 
with you.” 

“Come along,” replied Kenton. “Don’t talk! 
You can tell me about it afterwards.” 

The white squaw was young and active. She 


237 


DANIEL BOONE 


bounded along beside the fair-haired giant, declin- 
ing his proffered aid. In a few minutes they had 
gained the post upon the rocky summit where 
Hardy, who had witnessed the incident, anxiously 
awaited them. It was at once made evident that 
the woman was not going to be an encumbrance. 
She cast a surprised glance at the bound Indian but 
did not waste time with enquiry about him. 

Will you let me have his rifle ? ” she asked. I 
can make good use of it.” 

When the weapon was handed to her she loaded it 
deftly, examined the flint, and then turned her gaze 
with the others towards the village. A party of 
warriors was already on the way to the spot where 
the scouts and their new ally awaited them. In 
answer to an enquiry by Kenton, the young woman 
said that the place where they were could only be 
reached by the northern approach. By dropping 
about fourteen feet from a nearby spot it was pos- 
sible to gain a difficult pathway down to the plain, 
but no one could come up by the same route, and she 
fancied that few of the townspeople knew of it. 

The Indians were soon at the bottom of the slope. 
The ascent afforded no cover, and at a place about 
midway, and a hundred yards from the top, the path 
238 


THE WHITE SQUAW 


was so narrow that not more than two men could 
pass along it together. It was the passage of this 
restricted place that Kenton determined to contest. 
He instructed Hardy and the woman not to fire 
until one or more of the attackers should have 
reached that point. It was also agreed that they 
should shoot in turn so that one, at least, of the rifles 
might be always loaded. 

Despite the enormous disparity in numbers, the 
task of the defence was not such a difficult one as it 
might seem. The Indians had a rooted reluctance 
to facing rifle fire in the open. They could not see 
their adversaries, who were safely ensconced behind 
rocks, and had no idea of their numbers. Some 
half dozen braves advanced uncertainly up the slope. 
They reached the “ dead line ’’ set by Kenton. 
Crack! Crack! Kenton and Hardy had fired, and 
the two foremost dropped in their tracks. The 
others checked. Then a third came forward. The 
white squaw fired and he fell with a bullet through 
his brain. 

This was too much for the redskins. Three shots 
and three dead! What if there were twenty rifles 
behind the rocks waiting to do similar execution? 
By this time a hundred or more warriors were assem- 


239 


DANIEL BOONE 


bled in a group at the foot of the slope. The dis- 
tance was well-nigh two hundred yards, but Kenton 
decided to give them a reminder that the white 
man’s rifle carried far. He aimed at an Indian 
whose headdress marked him as a chief, and fired. 
The savage was seen to stagger and fall into the 
arms of the men about him. 

The Indians now withdrew to a greater distance. 
Small parties were detached to make an examination 
of the position from different points of view, but 
they evidently reported that the summit was acces- 
sible only from the north. As no further attack 
was made, the defenders concluded that the chiefs 
had decided to besiege them and starve them out, 
or else to assault under cover of night. In order to 
frustrate the latter design, Kenton, taking advantage 
of the cover of the rocks and crawling upon his belly, 
contrived to collect a pile of sticks and grass at a spot 
not much farther up the slope than his ‘‘ dead line.” 
When darkness set in, he lit this fire, intimating to 
the Indians that they had little better chance of 
rushing the position than in daylight. 

But long before this time Kenton had decided 
upon the future course of the little party. The 
white squaw had declared her willingness to guide 


240 


THE WHITE SQUAW 


them, and the scout readily placed himself in her 
hands. There was one brief hour of darkness be- 
fore the rising of the moon, and although this in- 
creased the difficulty of descent, it was necessary 
that they should avail themselves of it. As soon as 
their fire was lit, the white squaw led them to the 
place at the edge of the plateau of which she had 
spoken, leaving their bound captive upon the summit. 
She dropped first, and alighted safely upon the ledge 
below. Kenton followed and then helped Hardy 
down. The woman leading, they made the slow 
descent of the precipitous rock with joined hands. 
At length they were upon the plain and at the out- 
skirts of the village. 

All was quiet in Micmacto. The men were at 
the camp of the besiegers, where many of the women 
had joined them out of curiosity and for the purpose 
of cooking the evening meal. Two or three fires 
burned before wigwams in the village, but the square 
was steeped in darkness. Kenton admired the bold- 
ness and wisdom with which the woman led the way 
directly into Micmacto. The move was calculated 
to avoid exciting the dogs and it would most effec- 
tually hide their traces. A squaw accosted them 
from the doorway of her cabin, but the reply of the 
i6 241 


DANIEL BOONE 


white woman satisfied her and they passed on 
through the village without further incident. 

Once beyond Micmacto, the party sped away ; nor 
did they halt before the sun was high in the heavens 
next day. The woman, who had been ten years 
a captive, during which time she had not seen a 
white man until encountering Kenton, was strong 
and active. Furthermore, her dread of recapture 
lent her unnatural strength and she urged Kenton 
to push on without consideration for her. 

Kenton knew that they could not hope for more 
than six or seven hours^ start, for they had neglected 
to gag the Indian prisoner, and when he should find 
himself alone at daybreak he would surely shout the 
intelligence to the besiegers. The party, therefore, 
made all the haste possible. 

At the close of the third day they found them- 
selves upon the bank of the Ohio, and by good for- 
tune at a spot which they recognized as not far from 
the place where the canoe had been hidden. This 
was recovered without difficulty, and before mid- 
night they were in Kentucky. The journey to 
Boonesborough was accomplished without mishap, 
and the delighted white woman found herself once 
more in the company of her own sex and race. 


242 


XVII. 

A STRING OF DISASTERS 


Colonel Bowman heads an expedition against the Indians 
— The attempted surprise of Chillicothe — Somebody 

BLUNDERED — A BUNGLING RETREAT — A SKIRMISH IN THE 

FOREST — Death of Blackfish, the Shawnee chief — 
General Clark takes command of the military forces 
— The Indians, reinforced by artillery, invade Ken- 
tucky — Ruddle’s and Martin’s Stations are captured — 
And their people carried away to the Indian country — 
Clark retaliates by attacking the Shawnee villages— 
Boone returns with his family — Hardy is permitted to 
TAKE UP THE LIFE OF THE SCOUT — SqUIRE BoONE IS SLAIN 
BY THE SAVAGES. 

Whilst Kenton was unable to report positively 
as to the conclusion of the Indian council at Mic- 
macto, his information, combined with that derived 
from the rescued woman, pointed to a strong proba- 
bility that the Shawnees meditated a serious on- 
slaught at an early date. Colonel Bowman, in 
charge of the expedition that had been preparing 
for some weeks past, determined to start immedi- 
ately, in the hope of being able to attack Chillicothe 

243 


DANIEL BOONE 


before the tribesmen could gather for the invasion 
of Kentucky. 

On an early day in July, three hundred men 
marched for the Indian stronghold. Colonel Bow- 
man was in chief command and had under him Cap- 
tains Harrod and Logan. The force made rapid 
progress and, in less than a week’s time after start- 
ing, arrived at Chillicothe without the enemy having 
gained any knowledge of their approach. Bowman 
halted his men at the distance of about a mile from 
the town and arranged a plan of action with his 
officers. Logan was instructed to take half the 
force and proceed round the town westward, form- 
ing a cordon of investment. Bowman undertook to 
perform a similar operation in the opposite direction 
and to meet his lieutenant on the other side of the 
place. Just before dawn the town was to be 
assaulted. 

Logan set out shortly after midnight and executed 
his orders with admirable precision. An hour be- 
fore dawn his men were placed under cover envelop- 
ing one half of the town. Time wore on but failed 
to bring Bowman. At length day broke and the 
village was soon astir but still no sign of his com- 
mander relieved the anxious Logan. Presently a 


244 


A STRING OF DISASTERS 


dog, straying on the outskirts of the town, scented 
one of the men in ambush and set up a persistent 
barking. A warrior started for the spot to inves- 
tigate the cause of the animal’s excitement. The 
concealed backwoodsman fired, in violation of his 
instructions, and in an instant confusion reigned, 
not only in the village but also in the ranks of the 
attackers. 

It was now broad daylight and many men who 
sprang from their cover on the alarm were plainly 
visible to the warriors and revealed to them the fact 
that an attack in force was in progress. The 
squaws and children went scuttling into the woods 
and the men, hastily picking up their arms, ran into 
the council-house, which stood on an elevated spot 
at one end of the square. The movement was per- 
formed with such unanimity that it was clearly a 
prearranged resort for such an emergency. 

Logan now advanced his men and took possession 
of the deserted cabins upon the west side of the 
square. Under the instructions of their leader they 
quickly formed the doors and other suitable material 
into shields and under cover of them began to ad- 
vance upon the Indian stronghold. Most of the 
force were in the middle of the square, whilst others 


245 


DANIEL BOONE 


were creeping up behind the cabins, when Bowman 
issued the order to retire. Logan was amazed and 
his men were reluctant to obey. However, the com- 
mander repeated the order in such peremptory terms 
that there was no questioning it. 

The backwoodsmen had little discipline and no 
formation. When they retreated each man looked 
out for*himself, and the movement was always char- 
acterized by disorder and often by unnecessary loss. 
In this case the men under Logan were at a distinct 
disadvantage. They had advanced into the open to 
make an attack, and now there was nothing for it 
but to throw down their breastworks and run. This 
they did, whilst the Indians rained bullets upon 
them. Several lives were lost before the force was 
once more united in the forest to the south of the 
town. 

But this was only the beginning of a disgraceful 
rout that strikingly exemplified the manner in which 
a body of brave men will go to pieces in the hands 
of an incompetent commander. Nearly three hun- 
dred men commenced a retreat in the face of not 
more than forty savages. The Indians, under 
Blackfish, hung upon the rear and flanks of Bow- 
man’s party and picked off men at their leisure and 
246 


A STRING OF DISASTERS 


without danger to themselves. At length Bowman 
ordered a halt and turned to face the pursuers. 

Here was committed another of the series of 
blunders. After traversing a stretch of the densest 
forest and undergrowth, the party was brought to 
a stand just beyond it in comparatively open ground. 
The situation gave the assailants even a greater 
advantage than they had enjoyed whilst the force 
was on the march. A considerable proportion of 
the whites could not secure adequate cover, whilst 
the redskins kept up their fire without in the least 
exposing themselves. Bowman seemed to be inca- 
pable of direction and the men were verging upon 
panic. An overwhelming disaster would doubtless 
have ensued had not Logan and Harrod, followed 
by Kenton, Hardy, and half a dozen others, mounted 
the pack-horses and charged through the neighbor- 
ing forest in every direction, dislodging the lurking 
savages. 

The turn of affairs aided the disconcerted whites 
to regain their self-possession, and they turned upon 
the Indians with something like their wonted energy 
and intelligence. As the redskins ran from cover 
before the horsemen, many of them were brought 
down by the rifles of the backwoodsmen, and when 


247 


DANIEL BOONE 


one of the bullets found a billet in the heart of 
Blackfish, the Shawnees fled from the field of the 
action. 

It is impossible to explain the bungling conduct 
of the commander of this expedition. Attempts 
have been made, with indifferent success, to excul- 
pate Bowman. He was a man of proved courage, 
had a good military record and had served with 
credit under Clark in the Illinois campaign, but he 
returned to Kentucky on this occasion with a shat- 
tered reputation. 

Bowman’s feeble incursion to the Indian country 
was not calculated to have the effect for which it 
was designed. The death of Blackfish, however, 
induced the Indians to postpone the expedition into 
Kentucky that had been contemplated. But they 
were eager for revenge and sought the aid of the 
British in an attack upon the settlements, which was 
timed to take place in the following spring. The 
authorities at Detroit were smarting under a sense 
of humiliation occasioned by Clark’s success at Vin- 
cennes, and they readily fell in with the proposition 
of the Shawnees. Arrangements were made for the 
despatch of a joint force against the hated Ken- 
tuckians. 


248 


A STRING OF DISASTERS 


In the year 1779, numbers of bona fide settlers 
came into Kentucky and some thirty time-expired 
men, who had been with Clark in Illinois, returned. 
The newcomers scattered over a wide area, many 
stations being planted south and west of the Ken- 
tucky River from Boonesborough to Louisville, and 
upon the forks of the Licking. Early in the year 
Lexington was provided with a blockhouse and 
“ three rows of cabins.” A few months later 
Bryan’s Station was established at a point about five 
miles northeast of Lexington. Kentucky was thus 
in a much better condition to defend itself than it 
had been the year before, as might be inferred from 
the fact of Bowman being able to muster three hun- 
dred riflemen for a raid, whereas Boone could gather 
but seventy to repel the attack upon Boonesborough. 

Shortly after this time, Kentucky was divided into 
three counties. General Clark was in command of 
the entire territory. He had the rank of brigadier- 
general and held his headquarters at Fort Nelson, 
where the city of Louisville now stands. John 
Todd was the colonel commanding in Lincoln 
County, which contained Boonesborough, with 
Daniel Boone as lieutenant-colonel. 

These changes had not, however, taken place in 


249 


DANIEL BOONE 


the spring of 1778; otherwise it is more than prob- 
able that a greater state of preparedness against 
attack would have existed. Boone had not yet re- 
turned. Bowman was still in command of the 
militia, and the settlers seem to have entertained 
no apprehensions of reprisals on the part of the 
Indians. The awakening was rude and sudden and 
the escape from dire disaster entirely a matter of 
good fortune. 

In May, six hundred Indians assembled at Detroit 
preparatory to the expedition against the Kentucky 
settlements. At the close of the month they took 
up the march, reinforced by a body of French- 
Canadians under Colonel Byrd. The numerical 
strength of the force was unusually great, but it was 
rendered especially formidable by the addition of 
two field-pieces. The transportation of this artil- 
lery was a matter of extreme difficulty. The guns 
and their carriages were first hauled from Detroit 
to the waters of the Great Miami. They were then 
floated down that stream to the Ohio; next up the 
Ohio to the mouth of the Licking, and up that river 
to a landing place. From this point the invaders 
were forced to cut a road through the forest for 
many miles to their ultimate destination. 


250 


A STRING OF DISASTERS 


It is almost incredible that the slow advance of so 
large a body, accompanied by the most obtrusive 
operations, should have been accomplished without 
the knowledge of the settlers. Clearly, there was 
not a scout out in the direction of the Indian coun- 
try, although the failure of Bowman’s movement 
of the previous summer should have suggested the 
utmost precautions. 

On the twenty-second of June the enemy appeared 
before Ruddle’s Station and took the settlers com- 
pletely by surprise. It is true that they could not 
have made an effective defence even though they had 
received warning of the attack. Stockades were 
helpless against artillery. But the invading force 
might have been attacked with good effect whilst 
on the march and encumbered by its heavy guns. 

The garrison realized the futility of resistance, 
which could only serve to infuriate the savages. 
The gates were, therefore, thrown open in response 
to the demand to “ surrender at discretion to the 
arms of his Britannic Majesty.” The Indians 
rushed into the fort, made its occupants prisoners, 
and secured all the property worth carrying off. 

A few miles distant lay Martin’s Station. This 
was taken in a similar manner. By this time the 


251 


DANIEL BOONE 


savages, who had agreed to spare the lives of the 
captives, were getting out of hand and beyond the 
control of the British officer. Already several of 
the settlers had been tomahawked and scalped. 
Colonel Byrd now declined to support the Indians 
in further operations. Thus deprived of the main 
element of their strength, the chiefs decided to re- 
treat to their own country. Had the campaign been 
continued with vigor it is conceivable that the whites 
might have been swept out of Kentucky. 

No attempt was made to follow or intercept the 
victorious Indians. They retired rapidly with their 
plunder and prisoners. All the adults among the 
latter were compelled to carry loads, and many of 
them, especially the women, fell exhausted under 
their burdens. These were promptly put to death 
by their captors. 

Of the settlers who survived the terrible ordeal of 
this march, some were dispersed among the Indians, 
to meet with variously horrible fates and in very 
few cases to regain their homes. Others, more for- 
tunate, were carried to Detroit, where they were 
held as prisoners of war until the close of the 
Revolution. 

This affair had a depressing effect upon the set- 


252 


A STRING OF DISASTERS 


tiers, and particularly upon those who were new to 
the country. It is probable that an exodus would 
have commenced, but just at this juncture General 
Clark assumed command and with his characteristic 
energy and ability put a different complexion upon 
the situation. 

Clark immediately mustered the militia and called 
for additional volunteers. His splendid reputation 
insured a ready response, and he was soon at the 
head of a force of several hundred men, with which 
he made a rapid march into the Indian country. 
The expedition was conducted with marked ability 
and met with the utmost success. Several Indian 
towns were taken and destroyed and a considerable 
area laid waste. Some shortsighted writers have 
characterized these ravages as wanton cruelty, fail- 
ing to realize that the destruction of the crops and 
buildings of the Indians was one of the most effec- 
tive means of keeping their men at home to repair 
the damage and engage in hunting for the subsist- 
ence of their families. 

Despite the disasters at Ruddle’s and Martin’s, 
emigration continued and several new stations were 
located during the year 1780. For the most part, 
the newcomers were of a desirable class. They were 


253 


DANIEL BOONE 


generally homeseekers and, like the first settlers, 
inured to the hardships and exigencies of frontier 
life. In many cases they came down the Ohio and 
formed settlements in the region between that river 
and the Kentucky, so that Boonesborough was no 
longer in the front rank of the defence presented 
to the Indians. Most of the new settlements were 
small and weak but they depended upon aid from 
their neighbors in time of trouble. 

In October Boone returned with his family. Not 
only the settlement for which he was responsible, 
but the whole country experienced an access of con- 
fidence from the presence of this tower of strength. 
By the people of Boonesborough he was, as always 
after an absence, welcomed with joy. Hardy and 
Kenton, who entertained the strongest affection for 
their leader, were of course delighted to have him 
with them again. They had much to tell him of 
their own adventures and of the affairs of the 
settlers. 

Kenton gave what was, perhaps, a somewhat over- 
drawn account of Hardy’s share in their joint scout- 
ing expeditions. Boone expressed as much pleasure 
as his habitual reticence would permit, and when 
Hardy begged to be allowed to continue upon the 


254 


A STRING OF DISASTERS 


path he had entered under the guidance of Kenton, 
his foster-father assented. Boone could see no 
reason why Hardy should not regularly adopt the 
calling of the scout, for which Kenton declared him 
to be admirably adapted. It was a time when, next 
to good leaders, the greatest need of the community 
was good rangers. And so it was arranged that 
Hardy should complete his apprenticeship under the 
tutelage of Kenton. 

I wouldn’t undertake it. Captain,” said the scout, 
apologetically, only I suppose that you’ll be tied 
to the station most of the time. What he learns 
from me in a twelvemonth won’t amount to as much 
as you’d teach him in a week.” 

Make him as good a scout as yourself. Si, and 
he won’t find any betters this side of the Allegha- 
nies,” replied Boone. 

Late in the fall, Daniel Boone and his brother 
Squire went on a hunt in the country to the north 
of the settlement. One evening they were in camp 
near the Blue Licks when a party of Indians opened 
fire upon them from the neighboring brush. Squire 
fell dead at the first discharge and Daniel Boone 
sprang to his feet and fled into the forest. He 
made good headway and after going three or four 


255 


DANIEL BOONE 


miles had left his pursuers considerably in the rear, 
but had not been able to shake off a hound which the 
savages had set upon his track. At length he 
stopped and shot the animal, after which his flight 
was continued without interference. 

The death of his brother affected Daniel Boone 
deeply. They had been companions in many hunting 
and scouting expeditions. They had shared many 
dangers and difficulties. Before the entry of settlers 
Daniel and Squire had spent months alone, exploring 
the wilds of Kentucky. 

In his self-contained way Boone mourned many 
months for his brother. But this severe blow was 
soon followed by a heavier one. 


XVIII. 

“THE BLOODY YEAR” 


Whitaker and his men fall into an ambush — A number 

ARE KILLED BUT THE REMAINDER RALLY AND BEAT OFF THE 

Indians — Colonel Floyd goes in pursuit — He has a 

FIGHT WITH THE SAVAGES — HiS FORCE IS PUT TO FLIGHT 
WITH THE LOSS OF HALF ITS NUMBER — CaPTAIN WeLLS 
RESCUES HIS COMMANDER — ThE McAfeE BROTHERS, NOTED 
Kentucky backwoodsmen — They have an exciting ad- 
venture WITH A BAND OF INDIANS — ThE “ BLOODY YEAR ” 
IS USHERED IN BY THE LOSS OF LaUGHREY’s PARTY — OnE 
HUNDRED AND SEVEN MEN ARE KILLED OR CAPTURED — 
EsTILL’s BATTLE WITH THE WyANDOTS — ANOTHER DEFEAT 
FOR THE WHITES — ThE INDIAN TRIBES GATHER AND PLAN A 
GREAT INVASION OF KENTUCKY UNDER THE LEADERSHIP OF 
TWO WHITE MEN. 

The winter of 1780-81 was long remembered in 
Kentucky as the “ hard winter.’' The intensity of 
the cold confined the Indians more closely than usual 
to their villages. But though the settlers were thus 
exempted from the annoyance of marauding parties, 
they suffered severely on account of the insufficiency 
of food. The crops of the previous autumn had 
been in large part destroyed, and many immigrants 

257 


17 


DANIEL BOONE 


had arrived too late in the year to plough and sow. 
Buffalo meat, and a scanty allowance of that, formed 
the main subsistence of the people for several 
months. 

With the opening of spring a number of Indian 
parties crossed into Kentucky. One of these am- 
bushed a body of men under Colonel William Linn 
and killed four of the number, including the leader. 
Captain Whitaker, with fifteen guns,” pursued the 
Indians and trailed them to the Ohio. Supposing 
them to have crossed the river, Whitaker commenced 
to embark his men in canoes, with the object of fol- 
lowing. Whilst thus engaged, the whites were sud- 
denly attacked in the rear by the redskins who, in- 
stead of taking to their canoes, had stepped into 
the water and walked some distance through it, 
returning finally to the bank, where they formed 
an ambuscade. 

It was a very pretty trap and the whites were 
completely caught in it. Nine of their number fell 
in the course of a few minutes, but the remainder 
rallied and attacked the Indians with such spirit 
that they fled into the forest. 

In the next month — April — the settlers at Shelby- 
ville, a station that had been established by Squire 
258 


“THE BLOODY YEAR” 


Boone, were warned by a scout of the approach of 
a strong body of redskins. There were few men 
in the place and the stockade was not in a fit condi- 
tion for defence. It was determined, therefore, to 
remove to a nearby settlement on Bear Creek. This 
proved to be an unfortunate step, for the Indians 
assailed the party en route, dispersing it and killing 
more than half its number. 

Colonel Floyd hastily collected twenty-five men 
and went in pursuit of this body of warriors, which 
numbered two hundred. 

Whilst they were fearless fighters, most of the 
leaders among the Kentucky settlers lacked the cool 
caution that characterized Boone’s movements. Nor 
did they possess the intimate knowledge of the In- 
dians’ habits and strategy which enabled him so 
successfully to cope with the savages. Indeed, it 
may be said that the only military officer in Ken- 
tucky at that time who in any degree approached 
Boone in these respects was George Rogers Clark, 
and possibly I-ogan. As to the rest, they were con- 
stantly blundering into ambuscades that should have 
been avoided. 

On this occasion, Floyd allowed his zeal to outrun 
his discretion. In his eagerness to overtake the 


259 


DANIEL BOONE 


retreating warriors, he neglected the ordinary pre- 
caution of scouting across his front and marched 
his force into a carefully prepared ambush. Half 
his men were slain in the fight that ensued, and the 
remainder retreated in the usual disorderly fashion. 
Floyd’s horse had been shot under him and he was 
wounded. Weak and exhausted, he began to lag. 
behind and would most assuredly have fallen 
into the hands of the pursuers had not Captain 
Wells, who was well mounted, come to his aid. 
Wells insisted upon Floyd taking his place in the 
saddle and himself ran alongside, holding a stirrup. 
Thus both escaped from a very perilous situation. 

A feeling of enmity had existed between these 
two, but this gallant action of Captain Wells knit 
them in a close friendship that lasted through life. 

Among the most noted of the Kentucky back- 
woodsmen were three brothers named Samuel, 
James, and Robert McAfee, who had planted a sta- 
tion in the vicinity of Harrodsburg. One day in 
May, Samuel McAfee left the fort with another 
man to visit a nearby farm. They had not pro- 
ceeded more than a quarter of a mile when they 
were fired upon and McAfee’s companion fell dead. 
McAfee turned and ran towards the fort, but ah 
260 


“ THE BLOODY YEAR ” 


Indian sprang into the path to intercept him. The 
two men raised their rifles with muzzles almost 
touching. They pressed the trigger at the same 
instant. The redskin’s gun missed fire, whilst Mc- 
Afee’s sent the bullet home. 

As Samuel McAfee started afresh for the shelter 
of the stockade his two brothers ran out to meet 
him. Despite the warnings of the elder, Robert in- 
sisted upon going forward to secure the scalp of the 
dead Indian. By this time a number of warriors 
had placed themselves between the brothers and the 
fort. Samuel sped on and, although many shots 
were fired at him, reached the gate untouched. 

Dodging from tree to tree and using his rifle when 
occasion offered, Robert McAfee gradually gained 
to within one hundred yards of the fort, when he 
made a dash for it and entered the stockade in 
safety. 

Meantime James was in a situation of extreme 
peril. Five warriors confronted him. He ran to 
a large tree for protection, but immediately after- 
wards three Indians shot at him from behind, mak- 
ing the bark fly near his head. He sought a new 
retreat, but with similar result. Finding that he 
was surrounded by the savages and could not secure 
261 


DANIEL BOONE 


effective cover, he determined to run the gauntlet of 
their fusillade. Accordingly, he set out for the fort 
with all the speed he could command and, like his 
brothers, arrived unhurt. 

The Indians now attacked the stockade, which 
was but poorly garrisoned. A hot fight was main- 
tained for more than two hours, the men being aided 
in the defence by the worhen, some of whom stood 
to port-holes whilst others loaded spare rifles. 
Warned by their scouts that reinforcements were 
on the way, the Indians abandoned the attack and 
retreated. 

Hardly had the redskins disappeared from before 
McAfee’s than Major McGary arrived with forty 
men from neighboring stations. They immediately 
took up the pursuit and came in contact with the 
enemy before they had covered two miles. Mc- 
Gary ’s men, who had been joined by the McAfees 
and others, made a vigorous attack, before which 
the savages fled. They were pursued for several 
miles and completely routed with heavy loss. 

Aptly has 1782 been termed the ‘‘bloody year” 
of Kentucky’s history. It witnessed the most ter- 
rible disasters that ever befell the settlers on “ the 
dark and bloody ground.” We shall come presently 
262 


“ THE BLOODY YEAR ” 


to an account of the disastrous Battle of the Blue 
Licks, but will first describe two affairs that hap- 
pened in the same year. 

The annihilation of Captain Laughrey’s expe- 
dition was the more serious, though the less inter- 
esting of these. Laughrey was coming down the 
Ohio with a force of one hundred and seven men, 
designed to reinforce the Kentuckians. At a point 
near the mouth of the Miami he was attacked by a 
large body of Indians and his entire party was killed 
or captured. 

It is a remarkable fact that when the whites and 
redskins were pitted against each other in large 
bodies, the latter were generally victorious. The 
backwoodsman always gave the best account of him- 
self when alone or when acting with one or two 
companions. A few men of the stamp of Boone 
and Kenton could withstand five times their number 
of savages. Thus it was that the Indians held 
rather a contemptuous estimate of the whites in 
general, and had by contrast an exaggerated opinion 
of the prowess of Boone and a few others. 

In May Estill’s Station was attacked by a party 
of Wyandots. After killing one of the settlers and 
securing a prisoner they slaughtered the cattle in 
263 


DANIEL BOONE 


the neighboring fields and retreated. Captain Estill 
assembled twenty-five men and went in pursuit of 
the Indians. They had crossed the Licking and en- 
tered a narrow valley. He overtook them as they 
were about to leave it. As soon as the Indians per- 
ceived the whites, they halted and took up position 
under cover to await them. 

The Wyandots were distinguished for bravery 
above all the tribes in that part of the country. 
They were rendered especially formidable adver- 
saries from the fact that they would maintain a 
stand under heavy loss, which none of the other 
tribes yvould do. The Shawnees, Mingos, and other 
savages with whom the Kentuckians came in con- 
tact, invariably retreated upon the loss of a few of 
their number. This was not the result of cowardice 
but of calculation. They justly reasoned that their 
warriors were so few as compared with the whites 
that a victory might easily be too dearly bought at 
the expense of ten or twenty of them. The Wyan- 
dots, however, would sometimes lose half their 
number engaged and still continue the fight. 

Estill advanced his men to within eighty yards 
of the Indians, who had each taken shelter behind 
a tree, and made a similar disposition of them. The 
264 


“ THE BLOODY YEAR ” 


Indians slightly outnumbered their adversaries and 
had somewhat the advantage of position. They 
also excelled in the matter of taking cover, but were 
inferior to the backwoodsmen in marksmanship. 

At the outset the whites gained an advantage by 
wounding the chief of the Wyandots. Seeing him 
fall, his men began to waver but he was almost in- 
stantly upon his feet again and, supporting himself 
against the trunk of a tree, he continued to encour- 
age the warriors. 

The combat was carried on for upwards of an 
hour with the utmost detennination on both sides. 
The whites had lost six or seven men and several 
more were wounded, the casualties among the In- 
dians being about the same. But there was no sign 
of giving way in their ranks and Captain Estill 
began to be impatient to bring the affair to an issue. 

Considering how closely contested had been the 
fight, it is difficult to understand how Estill could 
have entertained the idea of weakening his line. 
He did, however, decide to detach six men and an 
officer in a flanking movement. The party was 
placed in charge of Lieutenant Miller, who was 
instructed to steal round under cover and take the 
enemy in flank or rear. 


265 


DANIEL BOONE 


Estill now faced the Indians with only twelve 
men, four of whom were wounded. His weakened 
condition became apparent to the enemy before 
Miller had had time to execute his movement. 
Urged on by their chief, the Wyandots rushed upon 
the whites and forced them to retreat. Pursuing 
closely, the savages killed eight of the backwoods- 
men, and among them Captain Estill. 

Of Miller’s party but two escaped, including that 
officer, who was afterwards accused of failure to 
carry out his instructions. Whether or not Miller 
was remiss in his duty, Estill cannot be relieved 
of the .prime responsibility for the disaster. 

The Indians were reported to have lost thirteen 
of their number. Shawnees would have retired 
after three or four men had fallen. 

The marked increase of immigration during the 
two years preceding this time had wrought the 
Indians up to a high pitch of resentment. Despite 
their successes, they saw that the whites were able 
to oppose fresh men to them without apparent abate- 
ment of numbers. They realized that unless the 
Long Knives were speedily driven from Kentucky 
they would become rooted to the soil. 

During the winter of 1782 the chiefs of the north- 


266 


“ THE BLOODY YEAR ” 


western tribes held many councils and debated upon 
a concerted invasion of Kentucky. They made the 
usual appeal to the authorities at Detroit, but on this 
occasion found them unwontedly lukewarm. The 
surrender of Cornwallis in the previous October 
had taken the heart out of the British in Canada, 
and they were more disposed to think of defence 
than to consider aggression. 

Two white men had great influence in the councils 
of the Indians. These were Alexander McKee and 
Simon Girty. The former was a British agent 
among the tribes, who had gained an unenviable 
notoriety for the atrocities committed with his sanc- 
tion, if not actually at his instigation. Doubtless, 
the backwoodsmen of Kentucky, who execrated his 
name, exaggerated McKee’s villany, but enough is 
known on good authority to stamp him as one of the 
most cruel and hardened wretches of his time. 

Simon Girty was one of four brothers who were * 
natives of Pennsylvania. Whilst they were chil- 
dren their father was slain by Indians. The mother 
remarried and soon afterwards the entire family 
was captured by the redskins, who burnt the step- 
father in the presence of his wife and her children. 

267 


DANIEL BOONE 


The woman and the boys were then sent to different 
towns of the northwestern Indians. 

After many years’ captivity, they all secured their 
freedom. Simon, as has been said elsewhere, served 
as a soldier and scout in Dunmore’s War. But asso- 
ciation with the whites was irksome to the man, 
who was by taste, habits, and education a redskin. 
He soon returned to the Indians and was readily 
admitted to a position of leadership among them. 

Girty acknowledged allegiance to the British, and 
although he held no official position under the Crown, 
had the protection and countenance of the authori- 
ties in Canada and was permitted to establish a 
trading-post in the territory. He was a close com- 
panion and confidant of McKee. In fact they were 
kindred spirits, and it would be difficult to say 
which was the greater scoundrel, or the more in- 
human monster. 

Girty had all the ferocity and bloodthirstiness of 
the worst Indians. He delighted in their most 
refined cruelties and looked on with glee whilst 
helpless white women and children were put to the 
torture, or butchered in cold blood. He excited the 
passions of the savages and urged them to deeds 
of violence and barbarism. He frequently led them 
268 


“ THE BLOODY YEAR ” 


in their attacks upon the settlements, and many of 
the most successful expeditions were of his planning. 

Of such an evil and malignant disposition was this 
man that it is difficult to understand his interposition 
in the case of Kenton. Of the much that is recorded 
and rumored of Girty, this is the solitary act that 
redounds to his credit. He does not appear to have 
had the redeeming quality of courage, but found a 
substitute for it in cunning and treachery. 

Under the advice of McKee and Girty the Indians 
formed a plan for attacking the Kentucky settle- 
ments. In the summer of 1782, five hundred war- 
riors of the Shawnees, Wyandots, Miamis, and 
other tribes assembled at Chillicothe, prepared to 
march under the guidance of the renegade and his 
friend, the British agent. 


XIX. 

SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 


Hardy goes on a lone scout — He encounters a mysterious 
STRANGER — And RECOGNIZES AN ENEMY — “ If YOU MAKE A 
SOUND OR SIGNAL, YOU ARE A DEAD MAN ” — ThE RIDE TO 
THE FORT AND THE WARNING — HaRDY RECONNOITRES THE 

Indian camp — And makes a long ride to bring aid to 
Bryan’s Station — Girty and his Indians invest the 
stockade — They plan a stratagem and are caught in 
their own trap — They attack in force and are repulsed 
— Relief from Lexington — Girty tries to cajole the 
GARRISON — The defenders disregard his threats and 
PROMISES — “You see this CUR? He’s CALLED SiMON 
Girty. We couldn’t think of a better name for him ” 
— The Indians depart as suddenly as they came. 

Kenton and Hardy, who for months had been 
engaged making reconnoissances, accompanying ex- 
peditions, and guiding settlers, separated early in 
August, leaving Boonesborough in different direc- 
tions. Kenton proposed to range through the coun- 
try northward to the Ohio, whilst Hardy should 
strike west until reaching Lexington and Bryan’s, 
and should scout thence to the river, somewhere 
upon the southern bank of which the comrades ex- 

270 


SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 


pected to encounter each other in the course of a 
few weeks. They moved lightly, carrying nothing 
but their arms and ammunition and a little parched 
corn in their wallets. 

On the morning of the third day after parting 
with Kenton, Hardy was passing along the timber- 
covered ridge that formed the eastern boundary of 
the valley in which lay Bryan’s Station. The sur- 
rounding open country had been a favorite resort 
of buffalo, elk, and other large game, when the first 
settlers arrived, but these animals were fast disap- 
pearing. As the scout’s eyes swept the beautiful 
panorama that lay spread before them, not a living 
object presented itself to his observant gaze. 

Presently the scout’s ear caught the soft pad of 
hoofs upon the grassy slope and he turned to see a 
horseman coming towards him at a lope. As he 
came nearer, a white man was revealed, mounted 
upon an unusually fine animal. On reaching the 
spot where Hardy stood he drew rein and sprang 
to the ground. 

Hallo, young man ! Can you tell me where I 
am ? ” cried the stranger. 

You are about three miles from Bryan’s. 


271 


DANIEL BOONE 


Where did you want to be? ” replied Hardy, a little 
nettled by something in the other’s manner. 

“ That’s all right ! I am on my way to Bryan’s. 
Know the country hereabouts ? ” 

Hardy admitted that he was tolerably well ac- 
quainted with it and, in response to the stranger’s 
gestured invitation, sat down on one end of a fallen 
tree. The stranger took a seat at the other, with 
the horse’s bridle over his arm. 

“ My name’s Beatty. I’m from Pennsylvania. 
Came in with a train, but they’re about ten miles 
behind. We think of settling hereabouts.” 

Hardy was not entirely satisfied with this state- 
ment. Neither the man nor the horse seemed to 
fit with it. The latter was as fine an animal as 
Hardy had ever seen in Kentucky and not at all 
like the kind of beast a settler might be expected to 
ride. As to the stranger, whilst he wore the usual 
backwoods costume, it was ornamented with a pro- 
fusion of beading and feathers such as adorned the 
dress of Indian chiefs. 

Hardy did not betray the uneasiness excited in 
him by the stranger’s appearance and which in- 
creased with closer observation. He cautiously an- 
swered the other’s questions whilst closely scrutiniz- 


272 


SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 


ing him. Beatty, as he called himself, was anxious 
to know the number and distribution of the settlers 
in that part of Kentucky, and to secure other infor- 
mation such as one contemplating taking up land 
might naturally desire. Nevertheless, Hardy's 
vague suspicion prompted him to return deceptive 
answers whilst simulating the utmost candor. 

Truly the appearance of the professed settler was 
not such as to inspire confidence. He was an un- 
dersized but well-knit man with a small bullet head. 
Although he had in reality not reached his thirtieth 
year, the seamed countenance gave the impression 
of much greater age. It was an evil face. The 
eyes were black, close set, and snake-like. Their 
glance was at once furtive and sinister. The 
swarthy surface of the face was startlingly broken 
by a broad scar extending from the forehead to the 
jaw upon the right side. The ears, round and flat, 
stood out from the head like those of a bat. High 
cheek-bones flanked a thin aquiline nose, beneath 
which stretched a straight, almost lipless, mouth. 

Hardy was an unusually plucky young man, but 
he felt cold chills running up and down his spine 
as he looked at the stranger. From the first moment 
of their encounter he had been repelled by him and 


i8 


273 


DANIEL BOONE 


the sensation of distrust and aversion grew with 
every moment. But more predominant than any 
other feeling was a sense of having met the man 
before. This he knew was not the case but still 
the idea that he had seen this sinister-looking in- 
dividual somewhere held possession of him. Sud- 
denly the truth flashed upon his mind. He knew 
the man seated at the other end of the log. 

Whilst continuing with apparent frankness to 
reply to the stranger’s enquiries, Hardy carelessly 
brought his rifle across his knees and gradually 
moved it until his hand was upon the trigger and 
the muzzle pointed at the breast of the man beside 
him. 

Don’t move ! ” he said in low but determined 
tones. '' No doubt your Indian friends are within 
call, but if you make a sound or signal you are a 
dead man. Sit still! I ought to kill you, Simon 
Girty, and I believe that I would but that you once 
saved the life of a friend of mine. I’ll pay that 
debt, but after this, if ever I get a chance ” 

Girty’s hand stole towards his rifle, which rested 
upon the tree-trunk beside him, but the action did 
not escape the sharp eye of the scout. 

Stop it! ” cried Hardy. “ Now understand me. 


274 


* 4 .«: 


SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 

If you try any tricks, I’ll blow the top of your head 
off without hesitation. It would be my easiest way, 
anyhow.” 

The tone of the scout’s voice and the look in his 
eyes conveyed to the other an assurance that the 
threat was no idle one. He sat rigid and listened, 
as Hardy proceeded. 

Leave your rifle where it is. Get up and lead 
your horse straight ahead and keep your hand away 
from your belt. I shall be a yard behind you.” 

Girty rose and walked forward as directed. 
When they had covered about one hundred yards, 
Hardy took the bridle from the renegade. 

“ Now walk over to that tree,” said Hardy, keep- 
ing the rifle threateningly pointed. “ You may be 
good at throwing the hatchet. A little farther — 
that’s it. Now, good-by, Girty, for the present.” 

With that Hardy sprang upon the back of the 
horse, dug his heels into its flanks, and dashed off 
down the slope towards Bryan’s Station. 

In a few minutes Hardy reached the fort. He 
warned the settlers that Girty, doubtless with a large 
band of redskins at his back, was in the neighbor- 
hood. Immediately the place was in the bustle of 
preparation. Runners were despatched in every 


275 


DANIEL BOONE 


direction to bring in the people from the surround- 
ing farms. As many of the cattle and horses as 
possible were driven into the stockade. The women 
and girls busied themselves carrying water from the 
spring. Men hastily inspected the defences and 
repaired, as well as they could, defective places. At 
the same time, a mounted messenger was sent to 
Lexington with the news and a request for aid. 

In the meanwhile. Hardy was not idle. He sur- 
mised that the main body of the Indians had been 
some miles behind Girty and he conjectured that, 
after the incident which has been described, they 
would enter into one of their protracted powwows 
before continuing the advance. It was quite prob- 
able, therefore, that the attack would be deferred 
for some hours or until the next day. 

These considerations prompted Hardy to make a 
reconnoissance with a view to ascertaining the 
strength and composition of the attacking party. 
The country around Bryan’s was, as has been stated, 
comparatively open. Hardy believed, with correct- 
ness, as the event proved, that the Indians were 
about seven or eight miles distant. In order to get 
around to their rear undiscovered it was necessary 
that he should make a detour of about twelve miles. 

276 


SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 


Fortunately, he had Girty’s particularly fine horse, 
which was quite fresh. 

Early in the afternoon, after making a wide 
circle. Hardy struck the trail over which the Indians 
had passed some hours before. He rode forward 
upon it until he came within a mile of the party. 
He then tied his horse to a tree and advanced cau- 
tiously under cover. As he had anticipated, the 
redskins had halted and were deliberating a change 
of plan. Between five and six hundred warriors 
were present, but the scout was relieved to find that 
they had no artillery. 

Having gained all the information that he sought. 
Hardy made his way back to the place where he had 
left his horse and rode away. He reached Bryan’s 
in the evening and learned that, whilst Indian scouts 
had been observed in the vicinity, no large body of 
savages had made its appearance. The little gar- 
rison was filled with anxiety on learning the strength 
of the attackers and began to look eagerly for rein- 
forcements. As soon as Hardy had allowed his 
horse a few hours’ rest, he started for Boonesbor- 
ough, fifty-five miles distant, to summon assistance. 

Bryan’s Station was a little more than five miles 
from the larger settlement of Lexington. It was 
277 


DANIEL BOONE 


situated on the southern bank of the Elkhorn, one 
side of the stockade being within a few hundred 
feet of the river. The fort was formed of two 
parallel rows of cabins, containing forty in all, con- 
nected by strong palisades and reinforced by block- 
houses at each end. The garrison consisted of fifty 
men at this time, besides whom there were at least 
an equal number of women and children in the place. 
There was a good supply of ammunition and provis- 
ions on hand, and the general conditions favored the 
ability of the settlers to stand a lengthy siege, pro- 
vided they should not be overwhelmed by weight 
of numbers. 

On the morning following the alarm the scouts 
from the garrison reported large bodies of the In- 
dians to be in the neighborhood, and the settlers 
stood to their arms in expectation of the attack. 
Girty did not disclose the strength of his force, of 
which he believed the garrison to be in ignorance. 
Instead, he secreted his main body in some neighbor- 
ing thickets and attempted a ruse. 

A party of about fifty warriors was advanced 
against the fort with instructions to feign a deter- 
mined assault but after a while to retreat as though 
in flight. Girty hoped by this stratagem to induce 
278 


SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 


the defenders to issue in pursuit, when he would 
advance at the head of four hundred Indians, seize 
the stockade, and take the settlers in the rear. 

Had the garrison not been forewarned by Hardy 
of the number of the attackers, the plan of the wily 
renegade might have succeeded. As it was, the 
settlers suspected the object of the feint and met it 
with a counter-stratagem. Thirteen active young 
men were sent out in pursuit of the retiring war- 
riors, whilst the remainder of the garrison stood 
ready to repel the attack which they expected upon 
the other side of the stockade. 

Girty heard the firing and the designedly loud 
shouts of the young men as they followed the red- 
skins towards the woods. He supposed that the 
garrison had left the fort and confidently advanced 
to the nearest gate, anticipating easy possession. 
There was nothing in the appearance of the place 
to undeceive him as he approached, followed by a 
horde of painted savages. Not a head was visible ; 
not a muzzle showed from port-hole. 

The redskins were allowed to advance to within 
fifty yards of the palisades. Then a staggering fire 
was poured upon them. They stopped, amazed, and 
aimlessly discharged their guns in the direction of 


279 


DANIEL BOONE 


the fort. The garrison replied with another well- 
directed fusillade, and as the savages broke and be- 
gan to run, volley after volley was poured into their 
panic-stricken ranks. 

The thirteen men who had been despatched in 
pursuit of the former party of Indians, now reen- 
tered the stockade. Their presence was needed, for 
after a brief interval the main body of the redskins 
returned in an attack better sustained than their first 
essay. The onslaught was maintained for several 
hours with a vigor that taxed the defenders to the 
utmost. LTged on by Girty and McKee, the red- 
skins rushed upon the stockade again and again. 
But the garrison always reserved its fire until the 
assailants were so near that every shot told. Never 
an Indian passed that fifty-yard line but met his 
death. Now and again, one, more determined than 
his fellows, gained to the palisade and clambered 
upon it, only to be stricken down by the tomahawk 
of the nearest backwoodsman. 

At about one o’clock in the afternoon the redskins 
withdrew on hearing from their scouts that a rein- 
forcement was approaching. This timely succour 
consisted of a body of fifty men from Lexington. 
The force was about equally composed of horsemen 
280 


SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 


and others on foot. When they approached the sta- 
tion, it was agreed that the mounted contingent 
should keep to the beaten trail and charge through 
the besiegers, whilst the men on foot should make 
their way to the fort under cover of some favoring 
cornfields. 

The former party rode through the waiting In- 
dians under a shower of bullets and entered the 
stockade without the loss of a man. They had suc- 
ceeded in diverting attention from their companions, 
who were well hidden by the standing corn and 
should have arrived at their destination with equal 
safety. By some mischance, however, they blun- 
dered on to the road and were discovered by the 
savages. Fortunately the fort was near at hand, 
but in the rush to that refuge six men fell. 

This accession to the garrison, indicating as it 
did that further reinforcements might be looked for 
ere long, whilst it greatly heartened the defenders 
had the reverse effect upon the Indians. The chiefs 
were seriously alarmed, and apprehensive lest the 
expedition should be cut off from retreat. They 
were disposed to retire without delay to their own 
country. However, Girty diverted them from their 
purpose. He harangued them with the greatest ear- 
281 


DANIEL BOONE 


nestness, urging persistence. He reminded them 
that it was becoming ever more difficult for them 
to muster such a force as was present, whilst the 
whites were constantly growing stronger and more 
numerous. He warned them that if they forewent 
this opportunity to drive the Long Knives from the 
country, another would never present itself. His 
vindictive eloquence prevailed, and the chiefs agreed 
once more to place the warriors at his disposal. 

The next day Girty endeavored to cajole the gar- 
rison into surrender. He had been wounded by a 
ball in the thigh, and now he crawled to a stump 
near the stockade under protection of a white flag. 
Captain Robert Patterson, who had led the rein- 
forcement from Lexington, being the senior officer 
present, was in command. He went to the gate with 
others to hear what the renegade had to say. 

Girty commenced by expressing his admiration 
for the splendid defence offered by the garrison. 
He assured them, however, that further resistance 
would be worse than useless. He promised, “ upon 
his honor,” to secure the life and safety of every 
soul in the stockade in case they should capitulate 
at once. Otherwise, he would abandon them to 
the fury of the savages. He declared that a large 
282 


SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE 


reinforcement of Indians and a detachment of artil- 
lery was within a day’s march of his camp, and 
should it arrive to find the settlers in arms, nothing 
that he could do would save them from massacre 
and torture. 

Girty demanded an immediate answer to his pro- 
posal. Captain Patterson turned on his heel and 
walked back into the fort without deigning to reply. 
But a young fellow named Reynolds had something 
to say to the renegade which sufficiently indicated 
the temper of the garrison. 

‘‘ Say, do you see this cur ? ” cried Reynolds, 
holding up a wriggling, yelping nondescript by the 
slack of its neck. ‘‘ He ain’t fair bird, beast, nor 
fish. He’s just the meanest, ugliest mongrel that 
ever walked on four legs. See him, do you ? Well, 
he’s called Simon Girty. We couldn’t think of a 
better name for him.” 

A loud laugh followed Reynolds’ sally and, with 
derisive gestures towards the discomfited Girty, the 
settlers moved into the stockade. The renegade 
crawled away towards the camp of his followers, 
uttering the most horrible imprecations and threats 
against the defenders of Bryan’s Station. He was 
soon to be glutted with revenge. 

283 


DANIEL BOONE 


Captain Patterson and his men were not at all 
disturbed by Girty’s vauntings. They felt confident 
of withstanding the present besiegers and were satis- 
fied that the boast of an artillery accession was a 
lie. In fact, Captain Patterson’s chief anxiety now 
was lest the Indians should leave before the arrival 
of the heavy reinforcements which he felt sure were 
upon their way to Bryan’s. He regretted that he 
had not parleyed with Girty and feigned uneasiness 
with regard to his situation and ability to hold out. 

The day passed without an attack by the Indians. 
This did not greatly surprise the garrison, but led 
them to look for an attack in force under cover 
of darkness. Patterson kept every man standing 
at his post throughout the night. From their posi- 
tions they could see the fires of the Indians about 
half a mile away, and momentarily expected their 
advance. But the day dawned without any change 
having occurred in the situation. 

Captain Patterson sent out scouts to reconnoitre. 
These soon returned to report that the Indians had 
departed, evidently having taken the great buffalo 
trace which passed by Ruddle’s and Martin’s and 
so to the Lower Blue Licks. 


XX. 

BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


Reinforcements reach Bryan’s Station — Unwise counsel 

RULES THE LEADERS — BoONe’S WARNING IS NOT HEEDED — 

The force starts in pursuit of the Indians — “All who 

ARE NOT COWARDS, FOLLOW ME ! ” — ThE TERRIFIC FIGHT ON 
THE BANKS OF THE LiCKING — T hE WHITES ARE BEATEN 
AND DISPERSED — ISRAEL BoONE IS WOUNDED AND FALLS — 

The father’s fierce fight for his son — Boone and 
Hardy swim to safety — Reynolds’ heroic rescue of his 
CAPTAIN — His capture and dashing escape— Colonel 
Logan arrives with reinforcements — But the Indians 
ESCAPE TO their OWN COUNTRY — BoONE AND HarDY RE- 
VISIT THE SCENE OF CARNAGE— ThE BLACKEST DAY IN KEN- 
TUCKY’S HISTORY. 

Thanks to the timely warning of Hardy Good- 
fellow, and the expedition employed in spreading 
the news, information of the attack upon Bryan’s 
Station quickly reached every settlement within 
sixty miles of that place. The day after the retreat 
of the Indians, reinforcements began to come in 
from various directions. Before the fall of night 
one hundred and eighty-two men were mustered in 

285 


DANIEL BOONE 


the fort. Daniel Boone arrived with a strong party 
from Boonesborough, which included his brother 
Samuel and his son Israel. The latter had been 
almost a baby when the family lived in Clinch Valley 
and had only recently come into his backwoods 
heritage of rifle and axe. Colonel Stephen Trigg 
brought in a force of men from Harrodsburg, and 
Colonel John Todd an additional levy from Lexing- 
ton. This party included Majors Harlan, McGary, 
McBride, and Levi Todd. A considerable propor- 
tion of the newcomers were mounted. 

Colonel Todd, as senior officer present, assumed 
command of the entire forces. Early in the after- 
noon a council of officers was held. The delibera- 
tions were far from cool, and the opinions expressed 
were of the most contradictory character. The ma- 
jority, however, agreed in advocating immediate 
pursuit. This proposal met with the approval of 
Colonel Todd, although it was not consistent with 
his reputation for prudence and circumspection. 

Colonel Todd’s decision is believed to have been 
influenced by a rather selfish and short-sighted con- 
sideration. A messenger had arrived with the tid- 
ings that Colonel Benjamin Logan had raised a body 
of four hundred and fifty men and would hurry for- 
286 


BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


ward with them. A proper soldierly spirit would 
have prompted the commander to wait for this rein- 
forcement, but he and others seem to have been 
jealous of Logan, whose reputation as a leader was 
growing apace. It is said that the determination 
to advance at once was largely due to a hope that 
Logan might be shut out of participation in the 
affair. 

Colonel Boone had not been present during the 
long wrangle between the leading officers. With 
them, he had gone out to the late camp of the In- 
dians, immediately on arriving at Bryan’s, but, un- 
like them, he had not contented himself with a 
cursory survey of the surroundings. Whilst the 
officers were debating, Boone and Hardy were en- 
gaged in a careful examination of the ground occu- 
pied by the warriors on the previous night and the 
trace left by them in their retreat. 

The first thing noticed by Boone was that the 
fires in the camp had been very few, indicating a de- 
sire on the part of the Indians to create the impres- 
sion that their numbers were less than was actually 
the case. Such deception was not consistent with 
flight in fear, because it courted pursuit. 

No attempt had been made to cover the trail, or 
287 


DANIEL BOONE 


disguise the direction taken by the war-party. On 
the contrary, their path was plainly marked and 
strewn with a variety of articles. These signs were 
readily accepted by the less experienced as evidences 
of a hurried and panic-spurred retreat. But Boone 
discerned in them a very thin deception, designed 
to draw the whites to their destruction. Indeed, the 
entire tactics of the Indians on this occasion were 
such as they commonly resorted to, and no back- 
woods officer claiming any degree of experience 
should have been outwitted by them. 

When Boone returned to the fort, after having 
followed the Indian trail for several miles, the coun- 
cil had arrived at its conclusion and preparations 
were on foot to act upon it without delay. Never- 
theless, Colonel Todd was anxious to have the opin- 
ion of the man whom all acknowledged — secretly, 
at least — to be superior to themselves in knowledge 
of the Indians. 

'^Well, what do you think, Boone?” the com- 
mander asked, accosting the pioneer as he entered 
the stockade. 

Why, Todd, it’s as clear a case of hocus-pocus 
as ever I saw. It isn’t a trace they’ve left. It’s 
a road marked with sign-posts every few yards. 

288 


BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


They’re afraid that we might miss ’em and they’ve 
actually blazed the trees. They’re headed for the 
Blue Licks. You know the lay of the country there- 
abouts, Todd. We’re invited to walk into an am- 
bush just as plainly as if they had put it in a printed 
paper.” 

This was a long speech for Boone and there was 
no mistaking its purport. Todd was visibly discon- 
certed. Like every other leader in Kentucky, he 
had learned to value Boone’s opinions highly. 
However, he had not the moral courage to adopt the 
course which his secret judgment told him was the 
proper one. It must be remembered, too, that the 
control of backwoods levies by their officers de- 
pended upon the most slender thread of discipline. 
A large proportion of the men assembled at Bryan’s 
were volunteers who might decline to act further if 
thwarted in their wishes. 

“ I’ve no doubt you are right, Boone, but my 
officers seem set on going forward at once,” said 
Todd, weakly. '' And, if we don’t get on their trace 
soon, the Indians may get away from us.” 

“ They won’t get away from you, Todd ; never 
fear,” answered Boone, with a grim smile, as he 
turned to assemble his men for the march. 


19 


289 


DANIEL BOONE 


Boone was a loyal subordinate. After having ex- 
pressed himself to his commander, he had no fur- 
ther word to say on the subject until again appealed 
to. He briefly informed his men that the orders 
were to pursue the enemy without delay, and he saw 
to it that they were ready and in their places when 
the column formed. 

Colonel Todd marched out of the stockade at 
Bryan’s Station, before dark, at the head of one 
hundred and eighty men. The force pushed on 
with all possible speed and on the morning of the 
third day, after having travelled forty miles, reached 
the bluffs of the Licking, opposite the lower Blue 
Licks. 

The country round about was unusually wild and 
rugged. The licks had been for ages the resort of 
buffalo and other animals which cropped the sur- 
rounding herbage, and the rains had washed the 
ground clear of soil, leaving bare rocks over a large 
area. At this point, the river curved southward, 
forming a U-shaped loop. Through the centre of 
the enclosed area ran a ridge and from either side of 
it a ravine extended down to the river. Each of 
these ravines was filled with thick brushwood, 
affording ideal cover. 


290 


BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


As the band of frontiersmen approached the 
place, several Indians v^ere seen marching over the 
ridge. They took a leisurely survey of the whites 
and disappeared. 

On the bank of the river, Colonel Todd ordered 
a halt and again went into consultation with his chief 
officers. He sought another expression from 
Boone, and this time it was delivered in the pres- 
ence of all the leaders. 

Boone was quite familiar with the country in 
which they were. Many a time he had hunted in 
it, and here he had been taken prisoner by the Shaw- 
nees in 1778. It was, as he explained to his com- 
panions, admirably suited for an ambuscade, and he 
expressed his opinion that Girty's force was even 
now secreted somewhere in the neighborhood. He 
reminded the officers that the trace had led so point- 
edly to the spot on which they stood that it was im- 
possible to escape the conclusion that the Indians 
had wished to lure them to it. 

In conclusion, Boone said frankly that he consid- 
ered their situation a precarious one. He believed 
that it would be hazardous to advance and that the 
prudent course would be to await the arrival of 
Logan, who could not be more than a day’s march 


291 


DANIEL BOONE 


distant. If, however, it was decided upon to cross 
the river, he would advise a division of the force, 
one half being sent round to approach the ravines 
from the rear, whilst the other made a direct attack 
upon the enemy, whom he strongly suspected of 
being concealed there. 

Colonel Boone’s calm statement made a notice- 
able impression on his hearers and it is probable that 
his advice would have been followed but for the 
insubordinate action of a hot-headed officer. Boone 
had hardly finished speaking when Major McGary 
shouted : 

“ All who are not cowards, follow me ! I will 
shoAV you where the redskins are.” With that he 
raised the war-whoop and urged his horse into the 
river. 

The men, who had impatiently awaited the con- 
clusion of the conference and could not have known 
that McGary ’s action was entirely unauthorized, 
rushed in a body after him and, of course, the offi- 
cers were obliged to fall in with the movement. By 
the time the force reached the other side, discipline 
was once more restored and Colonel Todd ordered 
a halt. Retreat was now out of the question, for in 
case the enemy lay hid on the peninsula they would 


292 


BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


descend upon the rear of the whites recrossing the 
stream and cut them to pieces. 

But before advancing, Colonel Todd, at the sug- 
gestion of Boone, sent forward two scouts with 
instructions to carefully examine the country on 
each side of the trace which led over the ridge. The 
scouts performed the hazardous service in safety. 
They passed along the ridge to the head of the loop 
and returned without having seen an Indian. 

The order to march was given, fifteen men under 
Major Harlan forming the advance guard. Colonel 
Todd commanded the centre. Colonel Trigg the 
right, and Colonel Boone the left. The vanguard 
had passed the ravines and the main body was 
within forty yards of them, when five hundred In- 
dians suddenly issued and fired a withering volley 
into the surprised frontiersmen. 

A terrific combat ensued. A more disadvan- 
tageous position than that in which Colonel Todd’s 
force found itself could hardly be imagined. Across 
their front stretched the Indians. On every other 
side the river enveloped them. They made a gallant 
stand, however, until the greatest havoc had been 
wrought in their ranks. 

The advance guard was quickly surrounded by 
293 


DANIEL BOONE 


savages. Major Harlan and his men fought des- 
perately until he and twelve of them fell covered 
with wounds. The other three contrived to make 
their way through the horde of howling redskins 
and escaped by continuing onward over the ridge 
and into the country beyond the loop in which the 
battle raged. 

Colonel Trigg and many of the Harrodsburg 
men fell under the fierce onslaught, and shortly 
afterwards Colonel Todd received a mortal wound 
and was seen to fall from his horse. Only Boone, 
on the left, was holding his own. But when the 
right crumbled up and the men in the centre, dis- 
mayed by the death of their commander, began to 
give way, the situation of Boone’s force became 
precarious. 

Seeing the disruption of the ranks, the Indians 
now rushed forward with uplifted tomahawks, utter- 
ing the most fiendish yells. Two-thirds of the 
troops broke into flight and made for the ford, 
with the redskins in close pursuit. Boone strove to 
keep his men together, urging them to retreat in a 
compact body and to present a front to the enemy. 
The calm demeanor of the pioneer influenced his 
men for a while after all the others had broken 


294 


BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


into disorderly rout, but unfortunately Boone’s 
horse, which had been wounded some time before, 
suddenly fell to its knees, bringing the rider to the 
ground. The men, imagining that their leader was 
killed, immediately took to flight. 

When Boone gained his feet, his son Israel and 
Hardy Goodfellow alone of all his followers were 
beside him. Savages were advancing from every 
side, and down at the ford a raging mass of human- 
ity contested the passage. Boone was an indifferent 
swimmer, but he instantly decided that the best 
chance of safety for his little party depended upon 
taking to the stream at its nearest point. 

Boone and his young companions turned towards 
the bank on the western side of the loop. They had 
progressed but a short distance when five savages 
attempted to intercept them. Two of these lacked 
firearms. The aim of the white men was directed 
at the others, two of whom fell, when Boone and 
Hardy rushed upon the remaining three with drawn 
tomahawks. The redskins fled without awaiting 
the attack, and when Boone turned it was to see 
his son stretched upon the ground. Israel had re- 
ceived a bullet in his breast. 

Without waiting to reload his rifle, Boone picked 


295 


DANIEL BOONE 


the boy up in his arms and resumed the road to the 
river. They were nearing the bank when three In- 
dians came down upon them. One of these Hardy 
disposed of when they were within twenty yards, 
but the other two continued to advance. They were 
extremely big men and unusually courageous. 
Armed only with their tomahawks they rushed upon 
the whites without faltering. 

Boone laid the boy upon the ground. His form 
was convulsed in the agonies of death. As the 
father rose erect his face was calm and his lips close- 
set, but a tempest raged in his heart. Hardy stood 
transfixed by the awful gleam of the eyes. Thus 
he had never seen the man before, nor ever did 
again. 

Boone drew his tomahawk and turned on the 
savages, who were now almost within arm’s length. 
He sprang at them like a panther robbed of its 
whelps. His weapon whizzed through the air and 
buried itself in the skull of the foremost. Spring- 
ing aside he avoided a blow from the tomahawk of 
the second savage, and the next instant gripped his 
throat and bore him to the ground. 

Hardy ran to the spot and raised his tomahawk 
but, as he was about to strike, Boone glanced up, 
296 



V!-- 


His Weapon Whizzed through the Air and Buried Itself in the 

Skull of the Foremost 




7 


BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


and at his look Hardy dropped his arm. The In- 
dian was a powerful man, but in the hands of the 
grief-stricken father he was as a child. Boone 
struck the savage’s head upon the rocks until he 
was stunned, and then drew his knife and plunged 
it into his heart. 

This whirlwind combat had occupied less time 
than it takes to tell, but when Boone turned again 
to his son the boy was dead. The father looked 
around. From three directions new enemies were 
approaching. There was nothing for it but to leave 
Israel’s body to be mutilated by the savages. 

Together, Boone and Hardy gained the bank and, 
plunging into the river, succeeded in reaching the 
other side in safety. They were almost the last to 
leave the battle-field, and by the time they landed 
upon the south side of the Licking the expiring 
flames of the fatal fight were flickering out. 

Half of the force that rashly pursued Girty’s war- 
riors lay dead upon the peninsula or at the ford. 
There the carnage had been fearful and would have 
been much worse but for the presence of mind of a 
man named Netherland, who on a former occasion 
had been taxed by his companions with cowardice. 
With twelve or fifteen other horsemen, Netherland 


297 


DANIEL BOONE 


crossed the river. The others were about to con- 
sult their own safety by riding off, when Netherland 
called upon them to halt and protect their comrades 
by firing upon the Indians. They did so, with the 
result of enabling many to escape who would other- 
wise have been slain. 

Among many acts of conspicuous bravery that 
marked that day, was a deed of daring performed 
by young Reynolds, who had taunted Girty at 
Bryan’s. Reynolds was making a retreat on horse- 
back to the ford when he overtook Captain Patter- 
son staggering along under a painful wound. A 
party of Indians were close behind, but the young 
man stopped and dismounted, insisting upon the 
officer taking his place in the saddle. 

When he had seen the wounded man safely 
mounted, Reynolds ran to a place below the ford 
and swam to the other side of the river. He was, 
however, pursued by a band of Indians and cap- 
tured. After a while the redskins left him in the 
hands of one of their number and started in pursuit 
of other victims. Seizing a favorable opportunity, 
Reynolds knocked his captor down with his fist and 
escaped. When he arrived at Bryan’s it was to 
find Captain Patterson there. 

298 


BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS 


The fugitives from the Blue Licks met Colonel 
Logan and his reinforcement on the way to the 
scene of action. Boone and Hardy returned with 
them. A forced march was made to the battle- 
field, but when they arrived there was no sign of 
the Indians. It was almost certain that they had 
made a rapid retreat to their own country and so 
Colonel Logan dismissed his men. 

The Battle of the Blue Licks impressed Boone, 
perhaps, more than any other incident of his life. 
In after years the mere mention of it brought tears 
to his eyes. 


XXI. 

AN OLD BIRD 


Clark heads a great invasion of the Indian country — 
And devastates the fields and villages — A period of 
peace and prosperity — Boone takes up the life of the 
FARMER — He receives A VISIT FROM OLD FRIENDS — ThE 
Indians learn that “an old bird is not to be caught 
WITH chaff” — The farmer turns his tobacco to good 
ACCOUNT — Boone finds himself beggared — And deter- 
mines TO LEAVE Kentucky — He emigrates to the Spanish 
possessions — And finds land and honors — His life is 

ROUNDED OUT IN THE PERFORMANCE OF IMPORTANT DUTIES — 

He dies at the ripe old age of eighty- six — Under the 
American flag. 

The defeat at the Blue Licks was the heaviest 
misfortune that had ever befallen the settlers of 
Kentucky. They did not learn until afterwards 
that the loss of the Indians had been even greater 
than that they had inflicted, and that the chiefs had 
returned to their villages bemoaning the victory 
which had cost so many warriors. The Kentuck- 
ians were possessed by dread of another such in- 
vasion, and not a few of them displayed a disposi- 

300 


AN OLD BIRD 


tion to leave the country. Almost immediately 
after the battle at the Licks, Boone wrote to Gover- 
nor Benjamin Harrison, of Virginia, saying : The 
inhabitants of this county are very much alarmed 
at the thought of the Indians bringing another cam- 
paign into our country this fall. If this should be 
the case, it will break up these settlements. I hope, 
therefore, your Excellency will take the matter into 
your consideration, and send us some relief as quick 
as possible.” 

No sooner had the news of the disaster reached 
General Clark than he determined upon reprisals and 
immediately summoned Colonels Boone, Logan, and 
other officers, as well as Kenton and two or three 
more scouts, to a council at Fort Nelson. All 
agreed that a blow should be struck at the Indians 
before they could recover from the effects of the 
recent campaign. Their force, which had been 
drawn from several tribes, would be disbanded and 
scattered and, if surprised, their country would 
probably be found in a comparatively defenceless 
condition. The main object was to strike hard 
and quickly. 

General Clark issued an urgent call for volun- 
teers and supplies and disseminated it throughout 


301 


DANIEL BOONE 


the country with all possible despatch. The re- 
sponse was instantaneous. One thousand mounted 
riflemen soon assembled at the two places o£ rendez- 
vous, Bryan’s Station and the Falls of the Ohio. 
Those who could not come contributed generously 
to the equipment and supply of the expedition, 
which had an ample number of pack-horses, beeves, 
and spare mounts. The two divisions marched to 
the mouth of the Licking, where General Clark 
assumed the command. 

Desiring to move with all possible secrecy and 
speed, Clark declined to be burdened with the ex- 
tensive supplies. He required each man to carry a 
liberal quantity of “ jerk ” and corn, and left the 
cattle and other material behind. Although game 
abounded at this time of the year, it was not deemed 
prudent to send out hunting parties, and the expe- 
dition felt the pinch of hunger before reaching 
Chillicothe, which was the first point of attack. 
Here they surprised the Indians so completely that 
when they entered the place, from which the inhabi- 
tants fled without offering resistance, the pots were 
upon the fires. The troops were very glad to fall 
to upon the meals that the squaws had been prepar- 
ing for their men. 


302 


AN OLD BIRD 


Clark’s force spread desolation through the In- 
dian country. Villages were razed to the ground 
and crops destroyed. Horses and cattle were driven 
off and the inhabitants dispersed in the forest. The 
blow paralyzed the redskins and made the greater 
impression as coming immediately after a decisive 
defeat of the whites. Nothing could have more 
effectually convinced them of the futility of waging 
war against the settlers. Their chiefs became dis- 
heartened and their confederacy was disbanded. 
At the same time, they lost the support of the Brit- 
ish, which had constituted a very important element 
of their strength. Although small parties of In- 
dians continued for years to attack families in ex- 
posed parts of the country, a formidable invasion of 
Kentucky was never attempted after the year 1783. 

General Clark’s expedition was the last occasion 
on which Daniel Boone was called upon to fight in 
the defence of the settlements of Kentucky. He 
had been among the earliest explorers of the coun- 
try. He had led one of the first parties of settlers 
into it. His rifle had been constantly at the service 
of the harassed backwoodsmen and his counsel had 
guided their leaders. None had made greater sacri- 
fices for the territory than he, and none reaped less 


303 


DANIEL BOONE 


benefit. He had lost a son at the very threshold 
of the promised land, and another had fallen in the 
final fight. His brother Squire had been scalped 
at the Blue Licks, and there his brother Samuel 
was sorely stricken. xA.nd yet, when the period of 
strife and stress had passed and the country pre- 
sented a peaceful picture of well-tilled fields and 
cheery cabins, Boone’s sole possession was his good 
name and his trusty rifle. He had not an acre to 
transmit to his children, nor a habitation he could 
call his own. He was a mere squatter among men 
who held their lands in security largely by reason 
of his determined efforts. 

It was not, however, until some time after this 
that Boone learned that through ignorance of legal 
requirements and characteristic simplicity, he had 
failed to make good his title to the land he occu- 
pied. For several years he cultivated his farm and 
in the hunting season followed his favorite pursuit. 

In the meantime the population of Kentucky was 
rapidly increasing. Towns were springing up at 
various points and a considerable trade in furs and 
merchandise developed. The settlers lived in com- 
parative peace, but they were by no means exempt 
from attack by hostile Indians. It is believed that 


304 


AN OLD BIRD 


between the years 1783 and 1790 no fewer than 
fifteen hundred persons were either killed or car- 
ried into captivity by small bands of redskins that 
made stealthy inroads into Kentucky. One such 
incident must be mentioned in detail. 

The Indians probably held Boone in higher esti- 
mation than they did any other man among the 
Kentuckians, and this was particularly the case with 
the Shawnees, who were best acquainted with him, 
having thrice had him in their power. A few years 
after the affair of the Blue Licks they conceived the 
idea of again trying to capture Boone. Four of the 
most agile and wily braves were assigned to the task. 

Although he did not use the weed, Boone had a 
patch of tobacco upon his farm with a view to meet- 
ing the market demand for the leaf. A short dis- 
tance from his cabin was a small shed in which he 
cured his crop. Around the inside of the shed was 
a construction of rails twelve or fifteen feet in 
height. Poles were laid upon these so as to extend 
across the hut. Upon the poles were spread stacks 
of leaves in three tiers, representing three different 
stages of curing. 

Boone was one day at work in this shed. On the 
lower tiers was a large quantity of dry tobacco 


20 


305 


DANIEL BOONE 


which the farmer required to move to the uppermost 
poles in order to make room for fresh leaves. He 
was standing upon the rails that supported the poles 
and just about to enter into his task when four In- 
dians, carrying rifles, entered the place. 

“ Now we got you, Boone,” cried the leader. 
“We carry you back to Chillicothe and you never 
get away again.” 

The days were past when the settler constantly 
had his gun beside him. Boone was unamied, but 
he did not exhibit the slightest uneasiness. He kept 
his position and looked down upon the redskins with 
a pleasant smile. 

“Well, well! Is that you, Pewultee?” he cried, 
recognizing one of the sons of old Blackfish. 
“ How is the squaw and how are the papooses? 
How is everyone at Chillicothe? I think I should 
like to see them all again.” 

The Indians expressed some impatience to have 
Boone come down, but his manner was so cordial 
that they fell under its spell as of old. He assured 
them that he would descend in a few minutes but 
begged them to wait until he should have finished 
his work. He kept up a running fire of talk about 
the old times, about adventures and fights that he 
306 


AN OLD BIRD 


and they had taken part in. The savages were soon 
absorbed in the conversation. They stood leaning 
upon their rifles and gazing up intently at the 
speaker. 

Meanwhile, Boone had been arranging his bundles 
of tobacco and at length had them adjusted to his 
satisfaction. Suddenly he removed two poles and 
the next instant the four Indians were buried be- 
neath a huge pile of dry leaves. Before they could 
extricate themselves Boone had sprung through the 
open door and was fifty yards away. 

When he had reached what he considered a safe 
distance, the farmer turned and at the sight that met 
his eyes, burst into peals of laughter. The Indians, 
blinded and half suffocated, had groped their way 
out of the shed and were now aimlessly stumbling 
around, whilst their frames shook with violent 
coughing and sneezing. With scanty breath they 
cursed Boone’s cunning and bewailed their own 
folly. 

Boone went to the cabin and secured his rifle. 
He then bade the Indians, who were by this time 
somewhat recovered, get their guns and begone. 
He warned them that if he should catch them in 
that part of the country again worse would assuredly 


307 


DANIEL BOONE 


befall them. It would be interesting to know the 
story Pewultee and his companions told upon their 
returning to Chillicothe. 

With the development of the territory and the 
return of peace, steps were taken by the authorities 
for the proper surveying of land in Kentucky and 
the perfection of titles. In this process hundreds 
of the older settlers were dispossessed in favor of 
shrewder claimants, better versed in the technicali- 
ties of the law. Boone had always displayed an 
aversion for legal forms and carelessness in matters 
of business. Scrupulously honest, he credited all 
others with a similar quality. His life had been 
governed by the golden rule, which, indeed, gener- 
ally prevailed in the backwoods communities. He 
was as ignorant as any child of the devious ways 
of the speculator and land-shark. Nor was it pos- 
sible for him to conceive that the State he had served 
so loyally should fail to protect him in what he 
reasonably considered his rights. 

When his beautiful farm at Boonesborough and 
other tracts were wrested from him by the subtle 
processes of law, he was aggrieved to think that 
the community for which he had bled and suffered 
could offer him no better recompense than the beg- 
308 


AN OLD BIRD 


gar’s portion, but he did not become embittered, as 
did Clark towards the close of his life. Boone laid 
his misfortunes at the door of the speculators and 
lawyers, and resolved to leave Kentucky and seek 
a new home in the wilderness. In a memorial to 
the legislature of Kentucky in 1812, he says: ‘‘ Un- 
acquainted with the niceties of the law, the few lands 
I was enabled to locate were, through my ignorance, 
generally swallowed up by better claims.” 

Hale and active, and with spirit undaunted, the 
grand old pioneer set out when past sixty years of 
age for the land of prairies beyond the ‘‘ Father of 
Waters.” His fame had reached the Spanish 
dominions in America, and the Lieutenant-Governor 
whose seat was at St. Louis invited him to settle 
in that district with “assurance that ample portions 
of land should be given to him and his family.” 

The proposal was an alluring one to Boone. 
Many Americans were settled in Louisiana, and it 
was already generally believed that the country 
would soon be annexed to the United States. 
Boone’s eldest son, Nathan, had some years previous 
taken up land in the rich country bordering on the 
Missouri River. The invitation of the Spanish 
official presented a means of acquiring land which 


309 


DANIEL BOONE 


Boone had not the money to purchase and, finally, 
the region beyond the Mississippi abounded in 
game. 

Boone accepted the liberal offer and in 1795, ac- 
companied by his family, journeyed to the Femme 
Osage settlement, about forty-five miles from St. 
Louis, and there took up his abode. Here, as prom- 
ised, a large tract of land was conveyed to him and 
he was made commandant, or syndic, of the district. 
The post was an important one, entailing both civil 
and military duties of a responsible nature. 

A large proportion of the people in the district 
were Americans, among whom were included several 
of Boone's relatives. The population was a peace- 
able, happy and prosperous one. Boone found the 
new conditions of his life congenial and he passed his 
last years in cheery contentment. He discharged 
his duties agreeably to the community under his 
control, and to the satisfaction of the Spanish au- 
thorities. When, at length, he passed peacefully 
away in the year 1820, at the ripe old age of eighty- 
six, the American flag was flying over the land. 


XXII. 

THE LAST HUNT 


Travelers in a strange land — “ I’m dying to see old Dad! ” 
— Old friends meet after many years — Kenton and 
Hardy find the old man happy in his simple life — 

“ I HAVE MORE THAN I NEED AND NO MAN CAN LAY A CLAIM 
AGAINST me” — The simple creed of a sincere Christian 
— One more hunt together — Boone proves that he is 

STILL A STOUT BACKWOODSMAN — AnD SHOWS HaRDY HOW 
TO “ BARK ” A SQUIRREL — He TELLS HIS COMPANIONS OF HIS 
EARLY LIFE AND ADVENTURES — HiS STRANGE DREAD OF 
DYING IN THE WILDERNESS — KeNTON AND HaRDY PART WITH 
THE OLD MAN FOR EVER — He STOOD AT THE CABIN DOOR AND 
WATCHED THEM OUT OF SIGHT. 

Let us go back in our story and take a parting 
glimpse at some of its characters. 

On a bright September day of the year 1808 two 
men stepped from a boat to the landing at St. Louis. 
They were both bronzed and weather-beaten and 
wore the familiar dress of the American backwoods- 
man. One was a fair-haired giant of about forty 
years, with laughing blue eyes and a musical voice. 
He had the careless, joyous manner of a boy and 


DANIEL BOONE 


the air of one to whom mere living was a delight. 
His companion was a younger man but of graver 
aspect. His slight but sinewy frame gave evidence 
of strength and activity, and the clear-cut features 
bespoke alert intelligence. 

The travellers carried rifles but were unburdened 
with baggage. They did not appear to be pressed 
for time nor hampered by business. Two or three 
hours were spent by them in rambling about the 
quaint town with its mixed population of Americans 
and Creoles, French and Spanish. Then they re- 
sorted to a tavern and ate a hearty meal. When at 
length they returned to the street it was with the 
air of men refreshed and with a purpose in view. 

“Well, Hardy, how shall it be? On horseback, 
or on foot? ” asked Kenton. 

“ On foot. Si, by all means. I’m dying to see 
old Dad, but I don’t want to ride up to his doorstep 
like a trooper. It will seem more like old times if 
we come in on the tramp. In fact, I want to arrive 
with a good fat buck on my back.” 

“ Right you are, but it shall be two bucks. We’ll 
come on the old man just as we used to do in the 
good old days at Boonesborough. Those were good 
times. Hardy! Things are getting too tame in the 


312 


THE LAST HUNT 


back country now. You and I will have to go 
farther west, I’m thinking.” 

‘‘ Yes. If we stay this side of the Mississippi, I 
shall never get a chance to pay off that little debt 
I contracted to you. Do you remember — the first 
time I ever saw you ? ” 

Kenton laughed heartily and slapped his compan- 
ion on the back, as he said : 

‘‘ You know better now than to aim at the crest- 
feathers of a redskin and then throw your tomahawk 
at him, eh, young ’un ? ” 

It was a beautiful country through which the 
travellers passed in their two days’ journey. On 
every hand stretched timbered prairie, over which 
roamed herds of buffalo, deer, and other game. 
Every few miles brought them to a little settle- 
ment surrounded by orchards and standing crops. 
Many of the inhabitants were Americans. In fact, 
three-fifths of the population of Upper Louisiana 
were immigrants from the States at the time of 
annexation. 

On the evening of the second day, the friends 
learned that they were within a few miles of their 
destination. They determined to defer their arrival 
until the next morning, and spent the interval before 


313 


DANIEL BOONE 


bedtime in securing the two fat bucks that they had 
proposed to take to their old leader as a humble 
testimony of respect. 

Early the next morning Kenton and Hardy, 
laboring under their heavy burdens, approached a 
cabin, to which they had been directed, on the out- 
skirts of a settlement in St. Charles County, Mis- 
souri. It was a small, two-roomed structure of 
hewn logs and shingle roof. Well-fenced fields and 
a large orchard lay behind the building. 

On a tree-stump near the cabin sat an old man, 
with snow-white hair falling over his shoulders. 
He was repairing the lock of a gun, whilst a hound 
crouched at his feet and looked up in eager expec- 
tation, hoping that a hunt was in prospect. 

The travellers hurried forward as well as they 
could with their loads, shouting greetings as they 
came: 

‘‘Hallo, Colonel!’^ 

“ Hallo, dad!” 

The old man rose, displaying surprising activity 
and erectness of carriage. He shaded his eyes with 
his hand and in a moment recognized his visitors. 

“Hardy! Si!” he cried, in accents of delight. 
“Bless your dear hearts! The sight of you is 


314 


THE LAST HUNT 


surely good for old eyes! It looks like old times 
to see you two coming up to the cabin so.” 

Twelve years had passed since these former fol- 
lowers of Boone had seen him. Of course, they 
had a great deal to tell one another. The old pio- 
neer's life had been comparatively uneventful in 
these later years, but his two disciples insisted on 
hearing all about it. At sight of the humble cabin 
they had feared that the old man might be in 
straitened circumstances. They were relieved to 
learn that he was very comfortably situated, and 
lived in his little log hut because he felt more at 
home in it than in a spacious dwelling. At times, 
he told them, he would spend a few weeks in the 
mansion of his son Nathan, a few miles distant, or 
in the roomy frame house of his son-in-law Calla- 
way, but he was always glad to get back to his own 
little two-roomed cabin. 

“ The Lord has dealt kindly with me,” said the 
old man, reverently ; ‘‘ I have more than I need and 
no man can lay a claim against me. I left some 
debts in Kentucky but with a few good seasons’ 
hunting and trapping I got together a considerable 
pile of money. I went back — ^you two boys were 
in Illinois and I was mighty sorry not to see you — 


315 


DANIEL BOONE 


and I cleaned up every debt. When I got home 
again I had just half a dollar but — oh, Hardy! — 
it felt good to be a free man.” 

‘‘ And you have been happy, Dad ? ” 

“ Yes, son. I’ve been happy. I won’t say that I 
was not sorry to leave the country that I had hunted 
over and fought for, but Kentucky was getting 
crowded and I felt that I needed more elbow room. 
It pleased the Lord to choose me as an instrument 
for the settlement of Kentucky, but I think my work 
was done before I left.” 

Two or three days were delightfully spent by the 
three friends in exchange of experiences and in 
mutual reminiscences. Boone evinced particular 
pleasure in recalling the scenes and events connected 
with his first years in Kentucky. Without being 
garrulous he had become more communicative than 
when Kenton and Hardy knew him and he told them 
many details of his earlier life that they had never 
known. 

Hardy had often felt curiosity on the subject of 
his foster-father’s religious belief. Boone’s life and 
actions marked him as a moral and God-fearing 
man, but he was not given to the discussion of such 
matters. During this visit, when they happened 
316 


THE LAST HUNT 


to be alone, Hardy took an opportunity to ask the old 
man for an expression of his creed. 

I never had much schooling, Hardy, and you 
know that churches are not over plentiful in the 
backwoods,” replied Boone, thoughtfully. ‘‘ I’m 
afraid my religion is the home-made kind, and I 
dare say it wouldn’t seem quite the right thing to a 
parson, but I’ve used it as a guide through life, 
son, and it served me well enough. It’s just this,” 
continued the old man, baring his head : ** To love 
and fear God; to believe in Jesus Christ. To do 
all the good to my neighbor and myself that I can, 
and to do as little harm as I can help. And to trust 
in God’s mercy for the rest.” 

One morning Kenton and Hardy rose early as 
usual and, to their surprise, found the old man 
bustling about in front of the cabin. Two pack- 
horses stood tied to neighboring trees. Blankets, 
wallets, powder-horns, and a variety of other 
articles lay strewn around. 

‘‘ Why, Dad, what’s forward now ? ” asked 
Hardy, in astonishment. 

‘‘ We’re going on a hunt,” answered Boone, in 
the most matter-of-course tone. 

‘‘Bully, Colonel!” cried Kenton. “It’s just 


317 


DANIEL BOONE 


what IVe been thinking of proposing. Lend a 
hand, Hardy, and let’s pack the outfit ! ” ^ 

In a few hours they started, the old man on foot 
like the others. Nor did they need to slacken their 
pace to accommodate him. He strode along, erect 
and with a step that displayed much of its old-time 
elastic swing. They found that he could cover his 
twelve miles a day without undue fatigue and he 
insisted that the stages should be no less. If Ken- 
ton or Hardy attempted any subterfuges, such as 
feigning weariness or a desire to examine the scen- 
ery, for the sake of affording their aged companion 
a rest, Boone was visibly annoyed and they soon de- 
cided to let him have his own way. 

They were delighted to find that the old woods- 
man’s eye, though somewhat restricted in range, was 
as keen as ever in detecting ‘‘ signs.” He soon gave 
them proof that he still possessed his wonderful skill 
with the rifle. 

“Can you bark a squirrel now. Hardy? Try 
that fellow,” said Boone, pointing to one of the little 
animals on a branch, at the distance of about fifty 
yards. 

Hardy declined to take the shot, but insisted upon 
Boone doing so. 


318 


THE LAST HUNT 


The old hunter took aim and fired. The squirrel 
flew into the air and came to the ground without a 
hair injured. It was a feat that few backwoodsmen 
in the prime of life and practice could accomplish. 

Boone took his young friends to Kansas River. 
They spent two weeks hunting in the adjoining 
country and never enjoyed themselves better in their 
lives. Boone at this time was a more delightful 
companion than in his younger years. He talked 
freely and frankly about himself and men whom he 
had known. He recounted stories of great hunts 
in which he had taken part, and told his companions 
of the long months he had passed in Kentucky be- 
fore the advent of settlers. He related the inci- 
dents of his capture by the Indians and his escape 
to find his companions gone and himself alone a 
hundred miles and more from the nearest white 
settlement. 

Boone informed them that he was in the habit of 
going on a hunting expedition twice a year with a 
companion whom he had bound by a written contract 
to bring his body home in case he should die in the 
wilderness. 

“ It is strange,” he said, that I, who have spent 
much of my life in strife and most of it in the 


319 


DANIEL BOONE 


wilderness, should have a dread of leaving my bones 
in the forest. I can’t account for it, but I have the 
strongest desire to be buried near the habitations 
of men.” 

It was with regret that the hunters turned their 
faces homewards. Each felt that it was their last 
hunt together, and perhaps the closing incident of 
their last meeting. Such, indeed, it proved to be. 

The day after their return, Kenton and Hardy 
bade the old man a reluctant and affectionate fare- 
well. He stood at his cabin door with eyes shaded 
and watched them out of sight. He went out of 
their lives, but in their distinguished after-careers 
each felt and acknowledged that he was a better man 
for having known Daniel Boone. 


THE END 


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